THE  MYSTERY  OF 
MURRAY  DAVENPORT 


ROBERT-NE1LSON -STEPHENS 


>S 


-v 


THE 

MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 


.  O*  CALLt.   iamiAUl.   1A>2> 


Works  of 
Robert  Neilson    Stephens 


An  Enemy  to  the  King 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

The  Road  to  Paris 

A  Gentleman  Player 

Philip  Winwood 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

Publishers 
200  Summer  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


DO    YOU    KNOW    WHAT   A    "JONAH"   IS?'" 

(.See  page  33) 


The  Mystery  of 
Murray  Davenport 

A  Story  of  New  York  at  the  Present  Day 


By 

Robert  Neilson  Stephens 

Author  of  "  Philip  Winwood,"  "  An   Enemy  to 
the   King,"  "The   Continental   Dragoon,"   etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.    C.    Edwards 


Boston   »    L.    C.    Page    & 
Company    ¥    M d  c  c  c  c  i  i  i 


Copyright,  1^03 
By  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
All  rights  reserved 


Published  April,  1903 


Colonial  \lress 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  MR.  LARCHER  GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN       .       n 

II.  ONE  OUT  OF  SUITS  WITH  FORTUNE    .        .      28 

III.  A  READY -MONEY  MAN         ....      46 

IV.  AN  UNPROFITABLE  CHILD     ....      64 
V.  A  LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER    .        .        .        .81 

VI.  THE  NAME  OF  ONE  TURL  COMES  UP         .      98 

VII.  MYSTERY  BEGINS 109 

VIII.  MR.  LARCHER  INQUIRES        .        .        .        .124 

IX.  MR.  BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY         .        .        .     146 

X.  A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE         .        .        .        .166 

XI.  FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      .     181 

XII.  LARCHER  PUTS  THIS  AND  THAT  TOGETHER     199 

XIII.  MR.  TURL  WITH  His  BACK  TO  THE  WALL.    215 

XIV.  A  STRANGE  DESIGN 233 

XV.  TURL'S  NARRATIVE  CONTINUED    .        .        .     254 

XVI.  AFTER  THE  DISCLOSURE        ....    270 

XVII.  BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT 284 

XVIII.  FLORENCE 304 


2133011 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"  «  DO   YOU    KNOW    WHAT    A  "  JONAH  "   IS  ?  '  "  (seefl.JS) 

Frontispiece 

"  THE  PLAY  BECAME  THE  PROPERTY  OF  BAGLEY  "     .      56 
"'I'M  AFRAID  IT'S  A  CASE  OF  MYSTERIOUS  DISAP- 
PEARANCE'"  123 

"  «  YOU'RE    QUITE    WELCOME    TO    THE    USE    OF    MY 

AUTOMOBILE'" 188 

"  TURL,   HAVING    TAKEN   A   MOMENT'S  PRELIMINARY 

THOUGHT,  BEGAN  HIS  ACCOUNT".        .        .    '    .    232 
"  '  GOOD  EVENING,  MR.  MURRAY  DAVENPORT  !     How 

ABOUT   MY   BUNCH   OF   MONEY?'".  .      282 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    MURRAY 
DAVENPORT 

CHAPTER    I. 

MR.    LARCHER   GOES   OUT   IN    THE   RAIN 

THE  night  set  in  with  heavy  and  unceasing  rain, 
and,  though  the  month  was  August,  winter  itself 
could  not  have  made  the  streets  less  inviting  than 
they  looked  to  Thomas  Larcher.  Having  dined  at 
the  caterer's  in  the  basement,  and  got  the  damp 
of  the  afternoon  removed  from  his  clothes  and 
dried  out  of  his  skin,  he  stood  at  his  window  and 
gazed  down  at  the  reflections  of  the  lights  on  the 
watery  asphalt.  The  few  people  he  saw  were  hasten- 
ing laboriously  under  umbrellas  which  guided  tor- 
rents down  their  backs  and  left  their  legs  and  feet 
open  to  the  pour.  Clean  and  dry  in  his  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  Mr.  Larcher  turned  toward  his 
easy  chair  and  oaken  bookcase,  and  thanked  his 


12       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

stars  that  no  engagement  called  him  forth.  On 
such  a  night  there  was  indeed  no  place  like  home, 
limited  though  home  was  to  a  second-story  "bed 
sitting-room  "  in  a  house  of  "  furnished  rooms  to 
let "  on  a  crosstown  street  traversing  the  part  of 
New  York  dominated  by  the  Waldorf-Astoria  Hotel. 

Mr.  Larcher,  who  was  a  blue-eyed  young  man 
of  medium  size  and  medium  appearance  every  way, 
with  a  smooth  shaven,  clear-skinned  face  whereon 
sat  good  nature  overlaid  with  self-esteem,  spread 
himself  in  his  chair,  and  made  ready  for  con- 
tent. Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  his  door,  and 
a  negro  boy  servant  shambled  in  with  a  telegram. 

"Who  the  deuce  —  ?"  began  Mr.  Larcher,  with 
irritation;  but  when  he  opened  the  message  he  ap- 
peared to  have  his  breath  taken  away  by  joyous 
surprise.  "  Can  I  call  ?  "  he  said,  aloud.  "  Well, 
rather!  "  He  let  his  book  drop  forgotten,  and  be- 
stirred himself  in  swift  preparation  to  go  out. 

The  telegram  read  merely : 

"  In  town  over  night.  Can  you  call  Savoy  at 
once?  EDNA." 

The  state  of  Mr.  Larcher's  feelings  toward  the 
person  named  Edna  has  already  been  deduced  by 
the  reader.  It  was  a  state  which  made  the  young 
man  plunge  into  the  weather  with  gladness,  dash 


MR.  L  ARC  HER  GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN    13 

to  Sixth  Avenue  with  no  sense  of  the  rain's  dis- 
comfort, mentally  check  off  the  streets  with  im- 
patience as  he  sat  in  a  north-bound  car,  and 
finally  cover  with  flying  feet  the  long  block  to  the 
Savoy  Hotel.  Wet  but  radiant,  he  was,  after  due 
announcement,  shown  into  the  drawing-room  of  a 
suite,  where  he  was  kept  waiting,  alone  with  his 
thumping  heart,  for  ten  minutes.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  a  young  lady  came  in  with  a  swish  from 
the  next  room. 

She  was  a  small  creature,  excellently  shaped,  and 
gowned  —  though  for  indoors  —  like  a  girl  in  a 
fashion  plate.  Her  head  was  thrown  back  in  a 
poise  that  showed  to  the  best  effect  her  clear-cut 
features;  and  she  marched  forward  in  a  dauntless 
manner.  She  had  dark  brown  hair  arranged  in 
loose  waves,  and,  though  her  eyes  were  blue,  her 
flawless  skin  was  of  a  brunette  tone.  A  hint  has 
been  given  as  4o  Mr.  Larcher's  conceit  —  which, 
by  the  way,  had  suffered  a  marvellous  change  to 
humility  in  the  presence  of  his  admired  —  but  it 
was  a  small  and  superficial  thing  compared  with 
the  self-satisfaction  of  Miss  Edna,  and  yet  hers 
sat  upon  her  with  a  serenity  which,  taking  her 
sex  also  into  consideration,  made  it  much  less  notice- 
able. 


14       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Well,  this  is  a  pleasure !  "  he  cried,  rapturously, 
jumping  up  to  meet  her. 

"  Hello,  Tom !  "  she  said,  placidly,  giving  him 
her  hands  for  a  moment.  "  You  needn't  look  ap- 
prehensively at  that  door.  Aunt  Clara's  with  me, 
of  course,  but  she's  gone  to  see  a  sick  friend  in 
Fifty-eighth  Street.  We  have  at  least  an  hour  to 
ourselves." 

"  An  hour.  Well,  it's  a  lot,  considering  I  had 
no  hope  of  seeing  you  at  this  time  of  year.  When 
I  got  your  telegram  — 

"  I  suppose  you  were  surprised.  To  think  of 
being  in  New  York  in  August !  —  and  to  fine,  such 
horrid  weather,  too!  But  it's  better  than  a  hot 
wave.  I  haven't  any  shopping  to  do  —  any  real 
shopping,  that  is,  though  I  invented  some  for  an 
excuse  to  come.  I  can  do  it  in  five  minutes,  with 
a  cab.  But  I  came  just  to  see  you." 

"  How  kind  of  you,  dearest.  But  honestly  ?  It 
seems  too  good  to  be  true."  The  young  man  spoke 
sincerely. 

"It's  true,  all  the  same.  I'll  tell  you  why  in 
a  few  minutes.  Sit  down  and  be  comfortable,  —  at 
this  table.  I  know  you  must  feel  damp.  Here's 
some  wine  I  saved  from  dinner  on  purpose;  and 
these  cakes.  I  mustn't  order  anything  from  the 
hotel  —  Auntie  would  see  it  in  the  bill.  But  if 


MR.  LARCHER  GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN   15 

you'd  prefer  a  cup  of  tea  —  and  I  could  manage 
some  toast." 

"  No,  thanks ;  the  wine  and  cakes  are  just  the 
thing  —  with  you  to  share  them.  How  thoughtful 
of  you ! " 

She  poured  a  glass  of  Hockheimer,  and  sat  oppo- 
site him  at  the  small  table.  He  took  a  sip,  and, 
with  a  cake  in  his  hand,  looked  delightedly  across 
at  his  hostess. 

"  There's  something  I  want  you  to  do  for  me," 
she  answered,  sitting  composedly  back  in  her  chair, 
in  an  attitude  as  graceful  as  comfortable. 

"  Nothing  would  make  me  happier." 

"  Do  you  know  a  man  in  New  York  named  Mur- 
ray Davenport  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  Larcher,  wonderingly. 

"  I'm  sorry,  because  if  you  knew  him  already  it 
would  be  easier.  But  I  should  have  thought  you'd 
know  him ;  he's  in  your  profession,  more  or  less  — 
that  is,  he  writes  a  little  for  magazines  and  news- 
papers. But,  besides  that,  he's  an  artist,  and  then 
sometimes  he  has  something  to  do  with  theatres." 

"  I  never  heard  of  him.  But,"  said  Larcher,  in 
a  somewhat  melancholy  tone,  "there  are  so  many 
who  write  for  magazines  and  newspapers." 

"  I  suppose  so ;  but  if  you  make  it  an  object,  you 
can  find  out  about  him,  of  course.  That's  a  part 


1 6      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of  your  profession,  anyhow,  isn't  it?  —  going  about 
hunting  up  facts  for  the  articles  you  write.  So  it 
ought  to  be  easy,  making  inquiries  about  this  Mur- 
ray Davenport,  and  getting  to  know  him." 

"  Oh,  am  I  to  do  that?  "  Mr.  Larcher's  wonder 
grew  deeper. 

"  Yes ;  and  when  you  know  him,  you  must  learn 
exactly  how  he  is  getting  along;  how  he  lives; 
whether  he  is  well,  and  comfortable,  and  happy,  or 
the  reverse,  and  all  that.  In  fact,  I  want  a  complete 
report  of  how  he  fares." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  you  must  be  deeply  interested 
in  the  man,"  said  Larcher,  somewhat  poutingly. 

"  Oh,  you  make  a  great  mistake  if  you  think  I'd 
lose  sleep  over  any  man,"  she  said,  with  lofty  cool- 
ness. "  But  there  are  reasons  why  I  must  find  out 
about  this  one.  Naturally  I  came  first  to  you.  Of 
course,  if  you  hesitate,  and  hem  and  haw  —  "  She 
stopped,  with  the  faintest  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  You  might  tell  me  the  reasons,  dear,"  he  said, 
humbly. 

"  I  can't.  It  isn't  my  secret.  But  I've  under- 
taken  to  have  this  information  got,  and,  if  you're 
willing  to  do  me  a  service,  you'll  get  it,  and  not  ask 
any  questions.  I  never  imagined  you'd  hesitate  a 
moment." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  hesitate  exactly.     Only,  just  think 


MR.  LARCHER   GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN       1 7 

what  it  amounts  to  —  prying  into  the  affairs  of 
a  stranger.  It  seems  to  me  a  rather  intrusive,  private 
detective  sort  of  business." 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know  the  reason  —  the  object 
in  view.  Somebody's  happiness  depends  on  it,  — 
perhaps  more  than  one  person's;  I  may  tell  you 
that  much." 

"  Whose  happiness  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter.  Nobody's  that  you  know. 
It  isn't  my  happiness,  you  may  be  sure  of  that, 
except  as  far  as  I  sympathize.  The  point  is,  in 
doing  this,  you'll  be  serving  me,  and  really  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  be  inquisitive  beyond  that." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  count  inquisitiveness  a  crime, 
when  the  very  thing  you  ask  me  to  do  is  nothing 
if  not  inquisitive.  Really,  if  you'd  just  stop  to  think 
how  a  self-respecting  man  can  possibly  bring  him- 
self to  pry  and  question  —  " 

"  Well,  you  may  rest  assured  there's  nothing 
dishonorable  in  this  particular  case.  Do  you  imagine 
I  would  ask  you  to  do  it  if  it  were?  Upon  my  word, 
you  don't  flatter  me !  " 

"  Don't  be  angry,  dear.  If  you're  really  sure 
it's  all  right  —  " 

"//  I'm  sure!  Tommy  Larcher,  you're  simply 
insulting!  I  wish  I  had  asked  somebody  else!  It 
isn't  too  late  —  " 


1 8       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Larcher  turned  pale  at  the  idea.  He  seized  her 
hand. 

"  Don't  talk  that  way,  Edna  dearest.  You  know 
there's  nobody  will  serve  you  more  devotedly  than 
I.  And  there  isn't  a  man  of  your  acquaintance  can 
handle  this  matter  as  quickly  and  thoroughly.  Mur- 
ray Davenport,  you  say ;  writes  for  magazines  and 
newspapers;  is  an  artist,  also,  and  has  something 
to  do  with  theatres.  Is  there  any  other  information 
to  start  with  ?  " 

"  No ;  except  that  he's  about  twenty-eight  years 
old,  and  fairly  good-looking.  He  usually  lives  in 
rooms  —  you  know  what  I  mean  —  and  takes  his 
meals  at  restaurants." 

"  Can  you  give  me  any  other  points  about  his 
appearance?  There  might  possibly  be  two  men  of 
the  same  name  in  the  same  occupation.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  looking  up  the  wrong  man." 

"  Neither  should  I  like  that.  We  must  have  the 
right  man,  by  all  means.  But  I  don't  think  I  can 
tell  you  any  more  about  him.  Of  course  /  never 
saw  him." 

"  There  wouldn't  probably  be  more  than  one  man 
of  the  same  name  who  was  a  writer  and  an  artist 
and  connected  with  theatres,"  said  Larcher.  "  And 
it  isn't  a  common  name,  Murray  Davenport.  There 
isn't  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  a  mistake  in 


MR.  L  ARC  HER  GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN   19 

identity;  but  the  most  astonishing  coincidences  do 
occur.'' 

"  He's  something  of  a  musician,  too,  now  that 
I  remember,"  added  the  young  lady. 

"  He  must  be  a  versatile  fellow,  whoever  he  is. 
And  when  do  you  want  this  report  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible.  Whenever  you  find  out  any- 
thing about  his  circumstances,  and  state  of  mind,  and 
so  forth,  write  to  me  at  once ;  and  when  you  find  out 
anything  more,  write  again.  We're  going  back  to 
Easthampton  to-morrow,  you  know." 

A  few  minutes  after  the  end  of  another  half-hour, 
Mr.  Larcher  put  up  his  umbrella  to  the  rain  again, 
and  made  his  way  back  to  Sixth  Avenue  and  a 
car.  Pleasurable  reflections  upon  the  half-hour, 
and  the  additional  minutes,  occupied  his  mind 
for  awhile,  but  gave  way  at  last  to  consideration 
of  the  Murray  Davenport  business,  and  the  strange- 
ness thereof,  which  lay  chiefly  in  Edna  Hill's  desire 
for  such  intimate  news  about  a  man  she  had  never 
seen.  Whose  happiness  could  depend  on  getting 
that  news?  What,  in  fine,  was  the  secret  of  the 
affair?  Larcher  could  only  give  it  up,  and  think 
upon  means  for  the  early  accomplishment  of  his 
part  in  the  matter.  He  had  decided  to  begin  im- 
mediately, for  his  first  inquiries  would  be  made 


2O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of  men  who  kept  late  hours,  and  with  whose  mid- 
night haunts  he  was  acquainted. 

He  stayed  in  the  car  till  he  had  entered  the 
region  below  Fourteenth  Street.  Getting  out,  he 
walked  a  short  distance  and  into  a  basement, 
where  he  exchanged  rain  and  darkness  for  bright 
gaslight,  an  atmosphere  of  tobacco  smoke  mixed 
with  the  smell  of  food  and  cheap  wine,  and  the  noisy 
talk  of  a  numerous  company  sitting  —  for  the  most 
part  —  at  long  tables  whereon  were  the  traces  of 
a  table  d'hote  dinner.  Coffee  and  claret  were  still 
present,  not  only  in  cups,  bottles,  and  glasses,  but 
also  on  the  table-cloths.  The  men  were  of  all  ages, 
but  youth  preponderated  and  had  the  most  to  say 
and  the  loudest  manner  of  saying  it.  The  ladies 
were,  as  to  the  majority,  unattractive  in  appearance, 
nasal  in  voice,  and  unabashed  in  manner.  The  as- 
semblage was,  in  short,  a  specimen  of  self-styled, 
self-conscious  Bohemia;  a  far-off,  much-adulterated 
imitation  of  the  sort  of  thing  that  some  of  the 
young  men  with  halos  of  hair,  flowing  ties,  and 
critical  faces  had  seen  in  Paris  in  their  days  of 
art  study.  Larcher  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd  in  the  front  room  to  that  in  the  back, 
acknowledging  many  salutations.  The  last  of  these 
came  from  a  middle-sized  man  in  the  thirties,  whose 
round,  humorous  face  was  made  additionally  benev- 


MR.   L ARCHER    GOES   OUT  IN  THE  RAIN       21 

olent  by  spectacles,  and  whose  forward  bend  of  the 
shoulders  might  be  the  consequence  of  studious  pur- 
suits, or  of  much  leaning  over  cafe-tables,  or  of 
both. 

"  Hello,  Barry  Tompkins!  "  said  Larcher.  "  I've 
been  looking  for  you." 

Mr.  Tompkins  received  him  with  a  grin  and  a 
chuckle,  as  if  their  meeting  were  a  great  piece  of 
fun,  and  replied  in  a  brisk  and  clean-cut  manner : 

"  You  were  sure  to  find  me  in  the  haunts  of 
genius."  Whereat  he  looked  around  and  chuckled 
afresh. 

Larcher  crowded  a  chair  to  Mr.  Tompkins's  elbow, 
and  spoke  low : 

"  You  know  everybody  in  newspaper  circles.  Do 
you  know  a  man  named  Murray  Davenport  ?  " 

"  I  believe  there  is  such  a  man  —  an  illustrator. 
Is  that  the  one  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.    Where  can  I  find  him?  " 

"  I  give  it  up.  I  don't  know  anything  about  him. 
I've  only  seen  some  of  his  work  —  in  one  of  the 
ten-cent  magazines,  I  think." 

"  I've  got  to  find  him,  and  make  his  acquaintance. 
This  is  in  confidence,  by  the  way." 

"  All  right.    Have  you  looked  in  the  directory?  " 

"  Not  yet.  The  trouble  isn't  so  much  to  find 
where  he  lives;  there  are  some  things  I  want  to 


22       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

find  out  about  him,  that'll  require  my  getting  ac- 
quainted with  him,  without  his  knowing  I  have 
any  such  purpose.  So  the  trouble  is  to  get  intro- 
duced to  him  on  terms  that  can  naturally  lead  up 
to  a  pretty  close  acquaintance." 

"  No  trouble  in  that,"  said  Tompkins,  decidedly. 
"  Look  here.  He's  an  illustrator,  I  know  that  much. 
As  soon  as  you  find  out  where  he  lives,  call  with 
one  of  your  manuscripts  and  ask  him  if  he'll  illus- 
trate it.  That  will  begin  an  acquaintance." 

"  And  terminate  it,  too,  don't  you  think  ?  Would 
any  self-respecting  illustrator  take  a  commission 
from  an  obscure  writer,  with  no  certainty  of  his 
work  ever  appearing?  " 

"  Well,  then,  the  next  time  you  have  anything 
accepted  for  publication,  get  to  the  editor  as  fast 
as  you  can,  and  recommend  this  Davenport  to  do 
the  illustrations." 

"  Wouldn't  the  editor  consider  that  rather  pre- 
sumptuous ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  would ;  but  there's  an  editor  or  two 
who  wouldn't  consider  it  presumptuous  if  /  did  it. 
Suppose  it  happened  to  be  one  of  those  editors,  you 
could  call  on  some  pretext  about  a  possible  error 
in  the  manuscript.  I  could  call  with  you,  and  sug- 
gest this  Davenport  as  illustrator  in  a  way  both 
natural  and  convincing.  Then  I'd  get  the  editor 


MR.    L ARCHER    GOES   OUT  IN  THE  RAIN      2$ 

to  make  you  the  bearer  of  his  offer  and  the  manu- 
script; and  even  if  Davenport  refused  the  job, — 
which  he  wouldn't,  —  you'd  have  an  opportunity  to 
pave  the  way  for  intimacy  by  your  conspicuous 
charms  of  mind  and  manner." 

"  Be  easy,  Barry.  That  looks  like  a  practical 
scheme;  but  suppose  he  turned  out  to  be  a  bad 
illustrator?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  would.  He  must  be  fairly 
good,  or  I  shouldn't  have  remembered  his  name. 
I'll  look  through  the  files  of  back  numbers  in  my 
room  to-night,  till  I  find  some  of  his  work,  so  I  can 
recommend  him  intelligently.  Meanwhile,  is  there 
any  editor  who  has  something  of  yours  in  hand 
just  now?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Larcher,  brightening,  "  I  got 
a  notice  of  acceptance  to-day  from  the  Avenue  Mag- 
azine, of  a  thing  about  the  rivers  of  New  York 
City  in  the  old  days.  It  simply  cries  aloud  for 
illustration." 

"  That's  all  right,  then.  Rogers  mayn't  have 
given  it  out  yet  for  illustration.  We'll  call  on  him 
to-morrow.  He'll  be  glad  to  see  me;  he'll  think 
I've  come  to  pay  him  ten  dollars  I  owe  him.  Sup- 
pose we  go  now  and  tackle  the  old  magazines  in 
my  room,  to  see  what  my  praises  of  Mr.  Davenport 
shall  rest  on.  As  we  go,  we'll  look  the  gentleman 


24      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

up  in  the  directory  at  the  drug-store  —  unless  you'd 
prefer  to  tarry  here  at  the  banquet  of  wit  and 
beauty."  Mr.  Tompkins  chuckled  again  as  he  waved 
a  hand  over  the  scene,  which,  despite  his  ridicule 
of  the  pose  and  conceit  it  largely  represented,  he 
had  come  by  force  of  circumstances  regularly  to  in- 
habit. 

Mr.  Larcher,  though  he  found  the  place  congenial 
enough,  was  rather  for  the  pursuit  of  his  own 
affair.  Before  leaving  the  house,  Tompkins  led 
the  way  up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  a  little  office  wherein 
sat  the  foreign  old  woman  who  conducted  this  tavern 
of  the  muses.  He  thought  that  she,  who  was  on 
chaffing  and  money-lending  terms  with  so  much 
talent  in  the  shape  of  her  customers,  might  know  of 
Murray  Davenport ;  or,  indeed,  as  he  had  whispered 
to  Larcher,  that  the  illustrator  might  be  one  of  the 
crowd  in  the  restaurant  at  that  very  moment.  But 
the  proprietress  knew  no  such  person,  a  fact  which 
seemed  to  rate  him  very  low  in  her  estimation  and 
somewhat  high  in  Mr.  Tompkins's.  The  two  young 
men  thereupon  hastened  to  board  a  car  going  up 
Sixth  Avenue.  Being  set  down  near  Greeley  Square, 
they  went  into  a  drug-store  and  opened  the  directory. 

"  Here's  a  Murray  Davenport,  all  right  enough," 
said  Tompkins,  "  but  he's  a  playwright." 

"  Probably  the  same,"  replied  Larcher,  remem- 


MR.   L ARCHER   GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN       2$ 

bering  that  his  man  had  something  to  do  with 
theatres.  "  He's  a  gentleman  of  many  professions. 
Let's  see  the  address." 

It  was  a  number  and  street  in  the  same  part  of 
the  town  with  Larcher's  abode,  but  east  of  Madison 
Avenue,  while  his  own  was  west  of  Fifth.  But  now 
his  way  was  to  the  residence  of  Barry  Tompkins, 
which  proved  to  be  a  shabby  room  on  the  fifth  floor 
of  an  old  building  on  Broadway ;  a  room  serving 
as  Mr.  Tompkins's  sleeping-chamber  by  night,  and 
his  law  office  by  day,  for  Mr.  Tompkins,  though  he 
sought  pleasure  and  forage  under  the  banners  of 
literature  and  journalism,  owned  to  no  regular  ser- 
vice but  that  of  the  law.  How  it  paid  him  might  be 
inferred  from  the  oldness  of  his  clothes  and  the 
ricketiness  of  his  office.  There  was  a  card  saying 
"  Back  in  ten  minutes  "  on  the  door  which  he  opened 
to  admit  Larcher  and  himself ;  and  his  friends  were 
wont  to  assert  that  he  kept  the  card  "  working  over- 
time," himself  preferring  to  lay  down  the  law  to 
companionable  persons  in  neighboring  cafes  rather 
than  to  possible  clients  in  his  office.  When  Tompkins 
had  lighted  the  gas,  Larcher  saw  a  cracked  low 
ceiling,  a  threadbare  carpet  of  no  discoverable  hue, 
an  old  desk  crowded  with  documents  and  volumes, 
some  shelves  of  books  at  one  side,  and  the  other 
three  sides  simply  walled  with  books  and  magazines 


26       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

in  irregular  piles,  except  where  stood  a  bed-couch 
beneath  a  lot  of  prints  which  served  to  conceal  much 
of  the  faded  wall-paper. 

Tompkins  bravely  went  for  the  magazines,  saying, 
"  You  begin  with  that  pile,  and  I'll  take  this.  The 
names  of  the  illustrators  are  always  in  the  table 
of  contents;  it's  simply  a  matter  of  glancing  down 
that." 

After  half  an  hour's  silent  work,  Tompkins  ex- 
claimed, "  Here  we  are !  "  and  took  a  magazine  to 
the  desk,  at  which  both  young  men  sat  down.  "  '  A 
Heart  in  Peril,'  "  he  quoted;  "  '  A  Story  by  James 
Willis  Archway.  Illustrated  by  Murray  Davenport. 
Page  38.'  "  He  turned  over  the  leaves,  and  dis- 
closed some  rather  striking  pictures  in  half-tone, 
signed  "  M.  D."  Two  men  and  two  women  figured 
in  the  different  illustrations. 

"  This  isn't  bad  work,"  said  Tompkins.  "  I  can 
recommend  '  M.  D.'  with  a  clear  conscience.  His 
women  are  beautiful  in  a  really  high  way,  —  but 
they've  got  a  heartless  look.  There's  an  odd  sort 
of  distinction  in  his  men's  faces,  too." 

"  A  kind  of  scornful  discontent,"  ventured  Lar- 
cher.  "  Perhaps  the  story  requires  it." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  the  thing  I  mean  seems  to  be 
under  the  expressions  intended.  I  should  say  it  was 
unconscious,  a  part  of  the  artist's  conception  of  the 


MR.   L ARCHER   GOES  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN       2/ 

masculine  face  in  general  before  it's  individualized. 
I'll  bet  the  chap  that  drew  these  illustrations  isn't 
precisely  the  man  in  the  street,  even  among  artists. 
He  must  have  a  queer  outlook  on  life.  I  congrat- 
ulate you  on  your  coming  friend !  "  At  which  Mr. 
Tompkins,  chuckling,  lighted  a  pipe  for  himself. 

Mr.  Larcher  sat  looking  dubious.  If  Murray 
Davenport  was  an  unusual  sort  of  man,  the  more 
wonder  that  a  girl  like  Edna  Hill  should  so  strangely 
busy  herself  about  him. 


CHAPTER   II. 

ONE    OUT    OF    SUITS    WITH    FORTUNE 

Two  days  later,  toward  the  close  of  a  sunny  after- 
noon, Mr.  Thomas  Larcher  was  admitted  by  a  lazy 
negro  to  an  old  brown-stone-front  house  half-way 
between  Madison  and  Fourth  Avenues,  and  directed 
to  the  third  story  back,  whither  he  was  left  to  find 
his  way  unaccompanied.  Running  up  the  dark 
stairs  swiftly,  with  his  thoughts  in  advance  of  his 
body,  he  suddenly  checked  himself,  uncertain  as  to 
which  floor  he  had  attained.  At  a  hazard,  he 
knocked  on  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  dim,  nar- 
row passage  he  was  in.  He  heard  slow  steps  upon 
the  carpet,  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  slightly 
taller,  thinner,  and  older  than  himself  peered  out. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  may  have  mistaken  the  floor," 
said  Larcher.  "  I'm  looking  for  Mr.  Murray  Dav- 
enport." 

' '  Myself  and  misery  know  the  man/  "  replied 
the  other,  with  quiet  indifference,  in  a  gloomy  but 
28 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS    WITH  FORTUNE  2Q 

not  unpleasing  voice,  and  stepped  back  to  allow  his 
visitor's  entrance. 

A  little  disconcerted  at  being  received  with  a 
quotation,  and  one  of  such  import,  —  the  more 
so  as  it  came  from  the  speaker's  lips  so  naturally 
and  with  perfect  carelessness  of  what  effect  it  might 
produce  on  a  stranger,  —  Larcher  stepped  into  the 
room.  The  carpet,  the  wall-paper,  the  upholstery 
of  the  arm-chair,  the  cover  of  the  small  iron  bed 
in  one  corner,  that  of  the  small  upright  piano  in 
another,  and  that  of  the  table  which  stood  between 
the  two  windows  and  evidently  served  as  a  desk, 
were  all  of  advanced  age,  but  cleanliness  and  neat- 
ness prevailed.  The  same  was  to  be  said  of  the 
man's  attire,  his  coat  being  an  old  gray-black  gar- 
ment of  the  square-cut  "  sack  "  or  "  lounge  "  shape. 
Books  filled  the  mantel,  the  flat  top  of  a  trunk,  that 
of  the  piano,  and  much  of  the  table,  which  held  also 
a  drawing-board,  pads  of  drawing  and  manuscript 
paper,  and  the  paraphernalia  for  executing  upon 
both.  Tacked  on  the  walls,  and  standing  about  on 
top  of  books  and  elsewhere,  were  water-colors, 
drawings  in  half-tone,  and  pen-and-ink  sketches, 
many  unfinished,  besides  a  few  photographs  of 
celebrated  paintings  and  statues.  But  long  before 
he  had  sought  more  than  the  most  general  impres- 


30      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

sion  of  these  contents  of  the  room,  Larcher  had  bent 
all  his  observation  upon  their  possessor. 

The  man's  face  was  thoughtful  and  melancholy, 
and  handsome  only  by  these  and  kindred  qualities. 
Long  and  fairly  regular,  with  a  nose  distinguished 
by  a  slight  hump  of  the  bridge,  its  single  claim  to 
beauty  of  form  was  in  the  distinctness  of  its  lines. 
The  complexion  was  colorless  but  clear,  the  face 
being  all  smooth  shaven.  The  slightly  haggard  eyes 
were  gray,  rather  of  a  plain  and  honest  than  a  bril- 
liant character,  save  for  a  tiny  light  that  burned 
far  in  their  depths.  The  forehead  was  ample  and 
smooth,  as  far  as  could  be  seen,  for  rather  longish 
brown  hair  hung  over  it,  with  a  negligent,  sullen 
effect.  The  general  expression  was  of  an  odd  pain- 
wearied  dismalness,  curiously  warmed  by  the  rem- 
nant of  an  unquenchable  humor. 

"  This  letter  from  Mr.  Rogers  will  explain  itself," 
said  Larcher,  handing  it. 

"  Mr.  Rogers  ?  "  inquired  Murray  Davenport. 

"  Editor  of  the  Avenue  Magazine!' 

Looking  surprised,  Davenport  opened  and  read 
the  letter ;  then,  without  diminution  of  his  surprise, 
he  asked  Larcher  to  sit  down,  and  himself  took  a 
chair  before  the  table. 

"  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Larcher,"  he  said, 
conventionally ;  then,  with  a  change  to  informality, 


ONE    OUT  OF  SUITS    WITH  FORTUNE  3! 

"  I'm  rather  mystified  to  know  why  Mr.  Rogers, 
or  any  editor,  for  that  matter,  should  offer  work  to 
me.  I  never  had  any  offered  me  before." 

"  Oh,  but  I've  seen  some  of  your  work,"  contra- 
dicted Larcher.  "  The  illustrations  to  a  story  called 
'  A  Heart  in  Peril.'  " 

"  That  wasn't  offered  me ;  I  begged  for  it,"  said 
Davenport,  quietly. 

"  Well,  in  any  case,  it  was  seen  and  admired,  and 
consequently  you  were  recommended  to  Mr.  Rogers, 
who  thought  you  might  like  to  illustrate  this  stuff 
of  mine,"  and  Larcher  brought  forth  the  typewritten 
manuscript  from  under  his  coat. 

"  It's  so  unprecedented,"  resumed  Davenport,  in 
his  leisurely,  reflective  way  of  speaking.  "  I  can 
scarcely  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  mistake." 

"  But  you  are  the  Murray  Davenport  that  illus- 
trated the  *  Heart  in  Peril '  story?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'm  the  only  Murray  Davenport  I  know 
of ;  but  an  offer  of  work  to  me  — 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  extraordinary  about  that. 
Editors  often  seek  out  new  illustrators  they  hear 
of." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  that.  You  don't  quite 
understand.  I  say,  an  offer  to  me  —  an  offer  un- 
solicited, unsought,  coming  like  money  found,  like 
a  gift  from  the  gods.  Such  a  thing-  belongs  to  what 


32       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

is  commonly  called  good  luck.  Now,  good  luck  is 
a  thing  that  never  by  any  chance  has  fallen  to  me 
before;  never  from  the  beginning  of  things  to  the 
present.  So,  in  spite  of  my  senses,  I'm  naturally 
a  bit  incredulous  in  this  case."  This  was  said  with 
perfect  seriousness,  but  without  any  feeling. 

Larcher  smiled.  "  Well,  I  hope  your  incredulity 
won't  make  you  refuse  to  do  the  pictures." 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Davenport,  indolently.  "  I 
won't  refuse.  I'll  accept  the  commission  with  pleas- 
ure —  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure,  that  is.  There 
was  a  time  when  I  should  have  danced  a  break-down 
for  joy,  probably,  at  this  opportunity.  But  a  piece 
of  good  luck,  strange  as  it  is  to  me,  doesn't  matter 
now.  Still,  as  it  has  visited  me  at  last,  I'll  receive 
it  politely.  Inasmuch  as  I  have  plenty  of  time  for 
this  work,  and  as  Mr.  Rogers  seems  to  wish  me  to 
do  it,  I  should  be  churlish  if  I  declined.  The  money 
too,  is  an  object  —  I  won't  conceal  that  fact.  To 
think  of  a  chance  to  earn  a  little  money,  coming 
my  way  without  the  slightest  effort  on  my  part! 
You  look  substantial,  Mr.  Larcher,  but  I'm  still 
tempted  to  think  this  is  all  a  dream." 

Larcher  laughed.  "  Well,  as  to  effort,"  said  he, 
"  I  don't  think  I  should  be  here  now  with  that  ac- 
cepted manuscript  for  you  to  illustrate,  if  I  hadn't 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS   WITH  FORTUNE  33 

taken  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  press  my  work  on  the 
attention  of  editors." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  prosperity, 
and  other  men's,  is  due  to  having  good  things  thrust 
upon  you  in  this  way.  But  if  you  do  owe  all  to  your 
own  work,  at  least  your  work  does  bring  a  fair 
amount  of  reward,  your  efforts  are  in  a  fair  measure 
successful.  But  not  so  with  me.  The  greatest  for- 
tune I  could  ever  have  asked  would  have  been  that 
my  pains  should  bring  their  reasonable  price,  as 
other  men's  have  done.  Therefore,  this  extreme  case 
of  good  luck,  small  as  it  is,  is  the  more  to  be  won- 
dered at.  The  best  a  man  has  a  right  to  ask  is  free- 
dom from  what  people  call  habitual  bad  luck.  That's 
an  immunity  I've  never  had.  My  labors  have  been 
always  banned  —  except  when  the  work  has  mas- 
queraded as  some  other  man's.  In  that  case  they 
have  been  blessed.  It  will  seem  strange  to  you, 
Mr.  Larcher,  but  whatever  I've  done  in  my  own 
name  has  met  with  wretched  pay  and  no  recognition, 
while  work  of  mine,  no  better,  when  passed  off  as 
another  man's,  has  won  golden  rewards  —  for  him 
—  in  money  and  reputation." 

"  It  does  seem  strange,"  admitted  Larcher. 
"What  can  account  for  it?" 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  '  Jonah  '  is,  in  the  speech 
of  the  vulgar?" 


34       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Yes ;    certainly." 

"  Well,  people  have  got  me  tagged  with  that 
name.  I  bring  ill  luck  to  enterprises  I'm  concerned 
in,  they  say.  That's  a  fatal  reputation,  Mr.  Larcher. 
It  wasn't  deserved  in  the  beginning,  but  now  that  I 
have  it,  see  how  the  reputation  itself  is  the  cause 
of  the  apparent  ill  luck.  Take  this  thing,  for  in- 
stance." He  held  up  a  sheet  of  music  paper, 
whereon  he  had  evidently  been  writing  before 
Larcher's  arrival.  "  A  song,  supposed  to  be  senti- 
mental. As  the  idea  is  somewhat  novel,  the  words 
happy,  and  the  tune  rather  quaint,  I  shall  probably 
get  a  publisher  for  it,  who  will  offer  me  the  lowest 
royalty.  What  then?  Its  fame  and  sale  —  or 
whether  it  shall  have  any  —  will  depend  entirely 
on  what  advertising  it  gets  from  being  sung  by  pro- 
fessional singers.  I  have  taken  the  precaution  to 
submit  the  idea  and  the  air  to  a  favorite  of  the 
music  halls,  and  he  has  promised  to  sing  it.  Now, 
if  he  sang  it  on  the  most  auspicious  occasion,  mak- 
ing it  the  second  or  third  song  of  his  turn,  having 
it  announced  with  a  flourish  on  the  programme, 
and  putting  his  best  voice  and  style  into  it,  it  would 
have  a  chance  of  popularity.  Other  singers  would 
want  it,  it  would  be  whistled  around,  and  thousands 
of  copies  sold.  But  will  he  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't,"  said  Larcher. 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS   WITH  FORTUNE  35 

"  Oh,  but  he  knows  why.  He  remembers  I  am  a 
Jonah.  What  comes  from  me  carries  ill  luck.  He'll 
sing  the  song,  yes,  but  he  won't  hazard  any  aus- 
picious occasion  on  it.  He'll  use  it  as  a  means  of 
stopping  encores  when  he's  tired  of  them;  he'll 
sing  it  hurriedly  and  mechanically ;  he'll  make  noth- 
ing of  it  on  the  programme;  he'll  hide  the  name  of 
the  author,  for  fear  by  the  association  of  the  names 
some  of  my  Jonahship  might  extend  to  him.  So, 
you  see,  bad  luck  will  attend  my  song;  so,  you  see, 
the  name  of  bad  luck  brings  bad  luck.  Not  that 
there  is  really  such  a  thing  as  luck.  Everything 
that  occurs  has  a  cause,  an  infinite  line  of  causes. 
But  a  man's  success  or  failure  is  due  partly  to  causes 
outside  of  his  control,  often  outside  of  his  ken. 
As,  for  instance,  a  sudden  change  of  weather  may 
defeat  a  clever  general,  and  thrust  victory  upon 
his  incompetent  adversary.  Now  when  these  out- 
side causes  are  adverse,  and  prevail,  we  say  a  man 
has  bad  luck.  When  they  favor,  and  prevail,  he  has 
good  luck.  It  was  a  rapid  succession  of  failures,  due 
partly  to  folly  and  carelessness  of  my  own,  I  admit, 
but  partly  to  a  run  of  adverse  conjunctures  far  out- 
side my  sphere  of  influence,  that  got  me  my  unlucky 
name  in  the  circles  where  I  hunt  a  living.  And  now 
you  are  warned,  Mr.  Larcher.  Do  you  think  you 
are  safe  in  having  my  work  associated  with  yours, 


36      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

as  Mr.  Rogers  proposes?  It  isn't  too  late  to  draw 
back." 

Whether  the  man  still  spoke  seriously,  Larcher 
could  not  exactly  tell.  Certainly  the  man's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Larcher's  face  in  a  manner  that  made 
Larcher  color  as  one  detected.  But  his  weakness 
had  been  for  an  instant  only,  and  he  rallied  laugh- 
ingly. 

"  Many  thanks,  but  I'm  not  superstitious,  Mr. 
Davenport.  Anyhow,  my  article  has  been  accepted, 
and  nothing  can  increase  or  diminish  the  amount 
I'm  to  receive  for  it." 

"  But  consider  the  risk  to  your  future  career," 
pursued  Davenport,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Oh,  I'll  take  the  chances,"  said  Larcher,  glad  to 
treat  the  subject  as  a  joke.  "  I  don't  suppose  the 
author  of  '  A  Heart  in  Peril,'  for  instance,  has  ex- 
perienced hard  luck  as  a  result  of  your  illustrating 
his  story." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  replied  Davenport,  with 
a  look  of  melancholy  humor,  "  the  last  I  heard  of 
him,  he  had  drunk  himself  into  the  hospital.  But 
I  believe  he  had  begun  to  do  that  before  I  crossed 
his  path.  Well,  I  thank  you  for  your  hardihood, 
Mr.  Larcher.  As  for  the  Avenue  Magazine,  it  can 
afford  a  little  bad  luck." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  the  good  luck  of  the  magazine 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS   WITH  FORTUNE  37 

will  spread  to  you,  as  a  result  of  your  contact  with 
it." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  it  doesn't  matter  much,  as 
things  are.  No;  they  are  right;  Murray  Daven- 
port is  a  marked  name;  marked  for  failure.  You 
must  know,  Mr.  Larcher,  I'm  not  only  a  Jonah; 
I'm  that  other  ludicrous  figure  in  the  world,  —  a 
man  with  a  grievance;  a  man  with  a  complaint 
of  injustice.  Not  that  I  ever  air  it;  it's  long  since 
I  learned  better  than  that.  I  never  speak  of  it, 
except  in  this  casual  way  when  it  comes  up  apropos ; 
but  people  still  associate  me  with  it,  and  tell  new- 
comers about  it,  and  find  a  moment's  fun  in  it. 
And  the  man  who  is  most  hugely  amused  at  it, 
and  benevolently  humors  it,  is  the  man  who  did 
me  the  wrong.  For  it's  been  a  part  of  my  fate  that, 
in  spite  of  the  old  injury,  I  should  often  work  for 
his  pay.  When  other  resources  fail,  there's  always 
he  to  fall  back  on ;  he  always  has  some  little  matter 
I  can  be  useful  in.  He  poses  then  as  my  constant 
benefactor,  my  sure  reliance  in  hard  times.  And 
so  he  is,  in  fact;  though  the  fortune  that  enables 
him  to  be  is  built  on  the  profits  of  the  game  he 
played  at  my  expense.  I  mention  it  to  you,  Mr. 
Larcher,  to  forestall  any  other  account,  if  you  should 
happen  to  speak  of  me  where  my  name  is  known. 
Please  let  nobody  assure  you,  either  that  the  wrong 


38       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

is  an  imaginary  one,  or  that  I  still  speak  of  it  in  a 
way  to  deserve  the  name  of  a  man  with  a  griev- 
ance." 

His  composed,  indifferent  manner  was  true  to 
his  words.  He  spoke,  indeed,  as  one  to  whom  things 
mattered  little,  yet  who,  being  originally  of  a  social 
and  communicative  nature,  talks  on  fluently  to  the 
first  intelligent  listener  after  a  season  of  solitude. 
Larcher  was  keen  to  make  the  most  of  a  mood 
so  favorable  to  his  own  purpose  in  seeking  the  man's 
acquaintance. 

"  You  may  trust  me  to  believe  nobody  but  your- 
self, if  the  subject  ever  comes  up  in  my  presence," 
said  Larcher.  "  I  can  certainly  testify  to  the  cool, 
unimpassioned  manner  in  which  you  speak  of  it." 

"  I  find  little  in  life  that's  worth  getting  warm 
or  impassioned  about,"  said  Davenport,  something 
half  wearily,  half  contemptuously. 

"  Have  you  lost  interest  in  the  world  to  that 
extent  ?  " 

"  In  my  present  environment." 

"  Oh,  you  can  easily  change  that.  Get  into  live- 
lier surroundings." 

Davenport  shook  his  head.  "  My  immediate 
environment  would  still  be  the  same ;  my  memories, 
my  body ;  '  this  machine/  as  Hamlet  says ;  my  old, 
tiresome,  unsuccessful  self," 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS    WITH  FORTUNE  39 

"  But  if  you  got  about  more  among  mankind,  — 
not  that  I  know  what  your  habits  are  at  present,  but 
I  should  imagine  —  "  Larcher  hesitated. 

"  You  perceive  I  have  the  musty  look  of  a  soli- 
tary," said  Davenport.  "  That's  true,  of  late.  But 
as  to  getting  about,  '  man  delights  not  me '  —  to 
fall  back  on  Hamlet  again  —  at  least  not  from  my 
present  point  of  view." 

"  '  Nor  woman  neither  '  ?  "  quoted  Larcher,  in- 
terrogatively. 

"  '  No,  nor  woman  neither/ "  said  Davenport 
slowly,  a  coldness  coming  upon  his  face.  "  I  don't 
know  what  your  experience  may  have  been.  We 
have  only  our  own  lights  to  go  by ;  and  mine  have 
taught  me  to  expect  nothing  from  women.  Fair- 
weather  friends;  creatures  that  must  be  amused, 
and  are  unscrupulous  at  whose  cost  or  how  great. 
One  of  their  amusements  is  to  be  worshipped  by 
a  man;  and  to  bring  that  about  they  will  pretend 
love,  with  a  pretence  that  would  deceive  the  devil 
himself.  The  moment  they  are  bored  with  the 
pastime,  they  will  drop  the  pretence,  and  feel  in- 
jured if  the  man  complains.  We  take  the  beauty 
of  their  faces,  the  softness  of  their  eyes,  for  the 
outward  signs  of  tenderness  and  fidelity;  and  for 
those  supposed  qualities,  and  others  which  their 


4O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

looks  seem  to  express,  we  love  them.  But  they  have 
not  those  qualities ;  they  don't  even  know  what  it 
is  that  we  love  them  for;  they  think  it  is  for  the 
outward  beauty,  and  that  that  is  enough.  They 
don't  even  know  what  it  is  that  we,  misled  by  that 
outward  softness,  imagine  is  beyond;  and  when 
we  are  disappointed  to  find  it  isn't  there,  they  won- 
der at  us  and  blame  us  for  inconstancy.  The  beau- 
tiful woman  who  could  be  what  she  looks  —  who 
could  really  contain  what  her  beauty  seems  the 
token  of  —  whose  soul,  in  short,  could  come  up  to 
the  promise  of  her  face,  —  there  would  be  a  crea- 
ture! You'll  think  I've  had  bad  luck  in  love,  too, 
Mr.  Larcher." 

Larcher  was  thinking,  for  the  instant,  about  Edna 
Hill,  and  wondering  how  near  she  might  come  to 
justifying  Davenport's  opinion  of  women.  For 
himself,  though  he  found  her  bewitching,  her  pretti- 
ness  had  never  seemed  the  outward  sign  of  exces- 
sive tenderness.  He  answered  conventionally: 

"  Well,  one  would  suppose  so  from  your  remarks. 
Of  course,  women  like  to  be  amused,  I  know.  Per- 
haps we  expect  too  much  from  them. 

" '  Oh,  woman  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made,' 


ONE    OUT  OF  SUITS    WITH  FORTUNE  4! 

I've  sometimes  had  reason  to  recall  those  lines." 
Mr.  Larcher  sighed  at  certain  memories  of  Miss 
Hill's  variableness.  "  But  then,  you  know,  — 

" '  When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou.' " 

"  I  can't  speak  in  regard  to  pain  and  anguish," 
said  Davenport.  "  I've  experienced  both,  of  course, 
but  not  so  as  to  learn  their  effect  on  women.  But 
suppose,  if  you  can,  a  woman  who  should  look 
kindly  on  an  undeserving,  but  not  ill-meaning,  in- 
dividual like  myself.  Suppose  that,  after  a  time, 
she  happened  to  hear  of  the  reputation  of  bad  luck 
that  clung  to  him.  What  would  she  do  then  ?  " 

"  Undertake  to  be  his  mascot,  I  suppose,  and 
neutralize  the  evil  influence,"  replied  Larcher, 
laughingly. 

"  Well,  if  I  were  to  predict  on  my  own  experience, 
I  should  say  she  would  take  flight  as  fast  as  she 
could,  to  avoid  falling  under  the  evil  influence  her- 
self. The  man  would  never  hear  of  her  again,  and 
she  would  doubtless  live  happy  ever  after." 

For  the  first  time  in  the  conversation,  Davenport 
sighed,  and  the  faintest  cloud  of  bitterness  showed 
for  a  moment  on  his  face. 

"  And  the  man,  perhaps,  would  '  bury  himself  in 
his  books/  "  said  Larcher,  looking  around  the  room ; 


42       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

he  made  show  to  treat  the  subject  gaily,  lest  he 
might  betray  his  inquisitive  purpose. 

"  Yes,  to  some  extent,  though  the  business  of 
making  a  bare  living  takes  up  a  good  deal  of  time. 
You  observe  the  signs  of  various  occupations  here. 
I  have  amused  myself  a  little  in  science,  too,  — 
you  see  the  cabinet  over  there.  I  studied  medicine 
once,  and  know  a  little  about  surgery,  but  I  wasn't 
fitted  —  or  didn't  care  —  to  follow  that  profession 
in  a  money-making  way." 

"  You  are  exceedingly  versatile." 

"  Little  my  versatility  has  profited  me.  Which 
reminds  me  of  business.  When  are  these  illus- 
trations to  be  ready,  Mr.  Larcher  ?  And  how  many 
are  wanted?  I'm  afraid  I've  been  wasting  your 
time." 

In  their  brief  talk  about  the  task,  Larcher,  with 
the  private  design  of  better  acquaintance,  arranged 
that  he  should  accompany  the  artist  to  certain  river- 
side localities  described  in  the  text.  Business  details 
settled,  Larcher  observed  that  it  was  about  dinner- 
time, and  asked: 

"  Have  you  any  engagement  for  dining?  " 

"  No,"  said  Davenport,  with  a  faint  smile  at  the 
notion. 

"  Then  you  must  dine  with  me.  I  hate  to  eat 
alone." 


ONE    OUT  OF  SUITS    WITH  FORTUNE  43 

"Thank  you,  I  should  be  pleased.  That  is  to 
say  —  it  depends  on  where  you  dine." 

"  Wherever  you  like.  I  dine  at  restaurants,  and 
I'm  not  faithful  to  any  particular  one." 

"  I  prefer  to  dine  as  Addison  preferred,  —  on  one 
or  two  good  things  well  cooked,  and  no  more. 
Toiling  through  a  ten-course  table  d'hote  menu  is 
really  too  wearisome  —  even  to  a  man  who  is  used 
to  weariness." 

"  Well,  I  know  a  place  —  Giffen's  chop-house  — 
that  will  just  suit  you.  As  a  friend  of  mine,  Barry 
Tompkins,  says,  it's  a  place  where  you  get  an  un- 
surpassable English  mutton-chop,  a  perfect  baked 
potato,  a  mug  of  delicious  ale,  and  afterward  a  cup 
of  unexceptionable  coffee.  He  says  that,  when 
you've  finished,  you've  dined  as  simply  as  a  philos- 
opher and  better  than  most  kings;  and  the  whole 
thing  comes  to  forty-five  cents." 

"  I  know  the  place,  and  your  friend  is  quite 
right." 

Davenport  took  up  a  soft  felt  hat  and  a  plain 
stick  with  a  curved  handle.  When  the  young  men 
emerged  from  the  gloomy  hallway  to  the  street, 
which  in  that  part  was  beginning  to  be  shabby, 
the  street  lights  were  already  heralding  the  dusk. 
The  two  hastened  from  the  region  of  deteriorating 
respectability  to  the  grandiose  quarter  westward, 


44      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

and   thence  to   Broadway  and   the   clang   of   car 
gongs.    The  human  crowd  was  hurrying  to  dinner. 
"  What  a  poem  a  man  might  write  about  Broad- 
way at  evening !  "  remarked  Larcher. 

Davenport  replied  by  quoting,  without  much  in- 
terest : 

"'The  shadows  lay  along  Broadway, 
'Twas  near  the  twilight  tide  — 
And  slowly  there  a  lady  fair 
Was  walking  in  her  pride.' 

"  Poe  praised  those  lines,"  he  added.  "  But  it 
was  a  different  Broadway  that  Willis  wrote  them 
about." 

"  Yes,"  said  Larcher,  "  but  in  spite  of  the  sky- 
scrapers and  the  incongruities,  I  love  the  old  street. 
Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  used  to,"  said  Davenport,  with  a  listlessness 
that  silenced  Larcher,  who  fell  into  conjecture  of 
its  cause.  Was  it  the  effect  of  many  failures?  Or 
had  it  some  particular  source?  What  part  in  its 
origin  had  been  played  by  the  woman  to  whose 
fickleness  the  man  had  briefly  alluded  ?  And,  finally, 
had  the  story  behind  it  anything  to  do  with  Edna 
Hill's  reasons  for  seeking  information? 

Pondering  these  questions,  Larcher  found  himself 
at  the  entrance  to  the  chosen  dining-place.  It  was 
a  low,  old-fashioned  doorway,  on  a  level  with  the 


ONE   OUT  OF  SUITS   WITH  FORTUNE  45 

sidewalk,  a  little  distance  off  Broadway.  They  were 
just  about  to  enter,  when  they  heard  Davenport's 
name  called  out  in  a  nasal,  overbearing  voice.  A 
look  of  displeasure  crossed  Davenport's  brow,  as 
both  young  men  turned  around.  A  tall,  broad  man, 
with  a  coarse,  red  face;  a  man  with  hard,  glaring 
eyes  and  a  heavy  black  mustache;  a  man  who  had 
intruded  into  a  frock  coat  and  high  silk  hat,  and 
who  wore  a  large  diamond  in  his  tie;  a  man  who 
swung  his  arms  and  used  plenty  of  the  surrounding 
space  in  walking,  as  if  greedy  of  it,  —  this  man 
came  across  the  street,  and,  with  an  air  of  proprie- 
torship, claimed  Murray  Davenport's  attention. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A   READY  -  MONEY    MAN 

"  I  WANT  you,"  bawled  the  gentleman  with  the 
diamond,  like  a  rustic  washerwoman  summoning 
her  offspring  to  a  task.  "  I've  got  a  little  matter 
for  you  to  look  after.  S'pose  you  come  around  to 
dinner,  and  we  can  talk  it  over." 

"  I'm  engaged  to  dine  with  this  gentleman,"  said 
Davenport,  coolly. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  newcomer. 
"  This  gentleman  can  come,  too." 

"  We  prefer  to  dine  here,"  said  Davenport,  with 
firmness.  "  We  have  our  own  reasons.  I  can  meet 
you  later." 

"  No,  you  can't,  because  I've  got  other  business 
later.  But  if  you're  determined  to  dine  here,  I  can 
dine  here  just  as  well.  So  come  on  and  dine." 

Davenport  looked  at  the  man  wearily,  and  at 
Larcher  apologetically;  then  introduced  the  former 
to  the  latter  by  the  name  of  Bagley.  Vouchsafing 
46 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  47 

a  brief  condescending  glance  and  a  rough  "  How 
are  you,"  Mr.  Bagley  led  the  way  into  the  eating- 
house,  Davenport  chagrinned  on  Larcher's  account, 
and  Larcher  stricken  dumb  by  the  stranger's  outrage 
upon  his  self-esteem. 

Nothing  that  Mr.  Bagley  did  or  said  later  was 
calculated  to  improve  the  state  of  Larcher's  feelings 
toward  him.  When  the  three  had  passed  from  the 
narrow  entrance  and  through  a  small  barroom  to 
a  long,  low  apartment  adorned  with  old  prints  and 
playbills,  Mr.  Bagley  took  by  conquest  from  another 
intending  party  a  table  close  to  a  street  window.  He 
spread  out  his  arms  over  as  much  of  the  table  as 
they  would  cover,  and  evinced  in  various  ways  the 
impulse  to  grab  and  possess,  which  his  very  manner 
of  walking  had  already  shown.  He  even  talked 
loud,  as  if  to  monopolize  the  company's  hearing 
capacity. 

As  soon  as  dinner  had  been  ordered,  —  a  matter 
much  complicated  by  Mr.  Bagley's  calling  for  things 
which  the  house  didn't  serve,  and  then  wanting  to 
know  why  it  didn't,  —  he  plunged  at  once  into  the 
details  of  some  business  with  Davenport,  to  which 
the  ignored  Larcher,  sulking  behind  an  evening 
paper,  studiously  refrained  from  attending.  By  the 
time  the  chops  and  potatoes  had  been  brought,  the 
business  had  been  communicated,  and  Bagley's  mind 


48       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

was  free  to  regard  other  things.  He  suddenly  took 
notice  of  Larcher. 

"  So  you're  a  friend  of  Dav's,  are  you?  "  quoth 
he,  looking  with  benign  patronage  from  one  young 
man  to  the  other. 

"  I've  known  Mr.  Davenport  a  —  short  while," 
said  Larcher,  with  all  the  iciness  of  injured  conceit. 

"  Same  business  ?  "  queried  Bagley. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Larcher,  as  if  the 
other  had  spoken  a  foreign  language. 

"  Are  you  in  the  same  business  he's  in  ?  "  said 
Bagley,  in  a  louder  voice. 

"I  —  write,"  said  Larcher,  coldly. 

Bagley  looked  him  over,  and,  with  evident  ap- 
proval of  his  clothes,  remarked :  "  You  seem  to've 
made  a  better  thing  of  it  than  Dav  has." 

"  I  make  a  living,"  said  Larcher,  curtly,  with  a 
glance  at  Davenport,  who  showed  no  feeling  what- 
ever. 

"  Well,  I  guess  that's  about  all  Dav  does,"  said 
Bagley,  in  a  jocular  manner.  "  How  is  it,  Dav, 
old  man?  But  you  never  had  any  business  sense." 

"  I  can't  return  the  compliment,"  said  Davenport, 
quietly. 

Bagley  uttered  a  mirthful  "Yah!"  and  looked 
very  well  contented  with  himself.  "  I've  always 
managed  to  get  along,"  he  admitted.  "  And  a  good 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  49 

thing  for  you  I  have,  Dav.  Where'ud  you  be  to-day 
if  you  hadn't  had  me  for  your  good  angel  whenever 
you  struck  hard  luck  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,"  said  Davenport, 
as  if  vastly  bored. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  quoth  Bagley,  and  filled  his 
mouth  with  mutton  and  potato.  When  he  had  got 
these  sufficiently  disposed  of  to  permit  further 
speech,  he  added :  "  No,  sir,  you  literary  fellows 
think  yourselves  very  fine  people,  but  I  don't  see 
many  of  you  getting  to  be  millionaires  by  your 
work." 

"  There  are  other  ambitions  in  life,"  said  Larcher. 

Mr.  Bagley  emitted  a  grunt  of  laughter.  "  Sour 
grapes  !  Sour  grapes,  young  fellow !  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about.  I've  been  a  literary  man  myself." 

Larcher  arrested  his  fork  half-way  between  his 
plate  and  his  mouth,  in  order  to  look  his  amazement. 
A  curious  twitch  of  the  lips  was  the  only  manifes- 
tation of  Davenport,  except  that  he  took  a  long  sip 
of  ale. 

"  Nobody  would  ever  think  it,"  said  Larcher. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I've  been  a  literary  man ;  a  play- 
wright, that  is.  Dramatic  author,  my  friend  Dav 
here  would  call  it,  I  s'pose.  But  I  made  it  pay." 

"  I  must  confess  I  don't  recognize  the  name  of 
Bagley  as  being  attached  to  any  play  I  ever  heard 


5O      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of,"  said  Larcher.  "  And  yet  I've  paid  a  good  deal 
of  attention  to  the  theatre." 

"  That's  because  I  never  wrote  but  one  play,  and 
the  money  I  made  out  of  that  —  twenty  thousand 
dollars  it  was  —  I  put  into  the  business  of  managing 
other  people's  plays.  It  didn't  take  me  long  to 
double  it,  did  it,  Dav?  Mr.  Davenport  here  knows 
all  about  it." 

"  I  ought  to,"  replied  Davenport,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  that's  right,  you  ought  to.  We  were  chums 
in  those  days,  Mr.  —  I  forget  what  your  name  is. 
We  were  both  in  hard  luck  then,  me  and  Dav.  But 
I  knew  what  to  do  if  I  ever  got  hold  of  a  bit  of 
capital.  So  I  wrote  that  play,  and  made  a  good 
arrangement  with  the  actor  that  produced  it,  and 
got  hold  of  twenty  thousand.  And  that  was  the 
foundation  of  my  fortune.  Oh,  yes,  Dav  remem- 
bers. We  had  hall  rooms  in  the  same  house  in  East 
Fourteenth  Street.  We  used  to  lend  each  other 
cuffs  and  collars.  A  man  never  forgets  those  days." 

With  Davenport's  talk  of  the  afternoon  fresh  in 
mind,  Larcher  had  promptly  identified  this  big-talk- 
ing vulgarian.  Hot  from  several  affronts,  which 
were  equally  galling,  whether  ignorant  or  intended, 
he  could  conceive  of  nothing  more  sweet  than  to 
take  the  fellow  down. 

"  I  shouldn't  wender,"  said  he,  "  if  Mr.  Daven- 


A   READY -MONEY  MAN  51 

port  had  more  particular  reasons  to  remember  that 
play." 

Davenport  looked  up  from  his  plate,  but  merely 
with  slight  surprise,  not  with  disapproval.  Bagley 
himself  stared  hard  at  Larcher,  then  glanced  at 
Davenport,  and  finally  blurted  out  a  laugh,  and  said : 

"  So  Dav  has  been  giving  you  his  fairy  tale?  I 
thought  he'd  dropped  it  as  a  played-out  chestnut. 
God  knows  how  the  delusion  ever  started  in  his 
head.  That's  a  question  for  the  psychologists  —  or 
the  doctors,  maybe.  But  he  used  to  imagine  —  I 
give  him  credit  for  really  imagining  it  —  he  used 
to  imagine  he  had  written  that  play.  I  s'pose  that's 
what  he's  been  telling  you.  But  I  thought  he'd  got 
over  the  hallucination ;  or  got  tired  telling  about 
it,  anyhow." 

But,  in  the  circumstances,  no  nice  consideration 
of  probabilities  was  necessary  to  make  Larcher  the 
warm  partisan  of  Davenport.  He  answered,  with 
as  fine  a  derision  as  he  could  summon: 

"  Any  unbiased  judge,  with  you  two  gentlemen 
before  him,  if  he  had  to  decide  which  had  written 
that  play,  wouldn't  take  long  to  agree  with  Mr. 
Davenport's  hallucination,  as  you  call  it." 

Mr.  Bagley  gazed  at  Larcher  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence,  as  if  not  knowing  exactly  what  to  make 
of  him,  or  what  manner  to  use  toward  him.  He 


52       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

seemed  at  last  to  decide  against  a  wrathful  attitude, 
and  replied : 

"  I  suppose  you're  a  very  unbiased  judge,  and  a 
very  superior  person  all  round.  But  nobody's  ask- 
ing for  your  opinion,  and  I  guess  it  wouldn't  count 
for  much  if  they  did.  The  public  has  long  ago 
made  up  its  mind  about  Mr.  Davenport's  little  de- 
lusion." 

"  As  one  of  '  the  public,'  perhaps  I  have  a  right  to 
dispute  that,"  retorted  Larcher.  "  Men  don't  have 
such  delusions." 

"  Oh,  don't  they  ?  That's  as  much  as  you  know 
about  the  eccentricities  of  human  nature,  —  and  yet 
you  presume  to  call  yourself  a  writer.  I  guess  you 
don't  know  the  full  circumstances  of  this  case.  Dav- 
enport himself  admits  that  he  was  very  ill  at  the 
time  I  disposed  of  the  rights  of  that  play.  We  were 
in  each  other's  confidence  then,  and  I  had  read  the 
play  to  him,  and  talked  it  over  with  him,  and  he 
had  taken  a  very  keen  interest  in  it,  as  any  chum 
would.  And  then  this  illness  came  on,  just  when 
the  marketing  of  the  piece  was  on  the  cards.  He 
was  out  of  his  head  a  good  deal  during  his  illness, 
and  I  s'pose  that's  how  he  got  the  notion  he  was 
the  author.  As  it  was,  I  gave  him  five  hundred 
dollars  as  a  present,  to  celebrate  the  acceptance  of 
the  piece.  And  I  gave  him  that  at  once,  too  — 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  53 

half  the  amount  of  the  money  paid  on  acceptance, 
it  was;  for  anything  I  knew  then,  it  might  have 
been  half  of  all  I  should  ever  get  for  the  play,  be- 
cause nobody  could  predict  how  it  would  pan  out. 
Well,  I've  never  borne  him  an  ounce  of  malice  for 
his  delusion.  Maybe  at  this  very  moment  he  still 
honestly  thinks  himself  the  author  of  that  play; 
but  I've  always  stood  by  him,  and  always  will. 
Many's  the  piece  of  work  I've  put  in  his  hands; 
and  I  will  say  he's  never  failed  me  on  his  side, 
either.  Old  Reliable  Dav,  that's  what  I  call  him; 
Old  Reliable  Dav,  and  I'd  trust  him  with  every 
dollar  I've  got  in  the  world."  He  finished  with  a 
clap  of  good-fellowship  on  Davenport's  shoulder, 
and  then  fell  upon  the  remainder  of  his  chop  and 
potato  with  a  concentration  of  interest  that  put  an 
end  to  the  dispute. 

As  for  Davenport,  he  had  continued  eating  in 
silence,  with  an  expressionless  face,  as  if  the  matter 
were  one  that  concerned  a  stranger.  Larcher,  ob- 
serving him,  saw  that  he  had  indeed  put  that  mat- 
ter behind  him,  as  one  to  which  there  was  nothing 
but  weariness  to  be  gained  in  returning.  The  rest 
of  the  meal  passed  without  event.  Mr.  Bagley  made 
short  work  of  his  food,  and  left  the  two  others  with 
their  coffee,  departing  in  as  self-satisfied  a  mood 


54       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

as  he  had  arrived  in,  and  without  any  trace  of  the 
little  passage  of  words  with  Larcher. 

A  breath  of  relief  escaped  Davenport,  and  he  said, 
with  a  faint  smile : 

"  There  was  a  time  when  I  had  my  say  about 
the  play.  We've  had  scenes,  I  can  tell  you.  But 
Bag-ley  is  a  man  who  can  brazen  out  any  assertion ; 
he's  a  man  impossible  to  outface.  Even  when  he 
and  I  are  alone  together,  he  plays  the  same  part; 
won't  admit  that  I  wrote  the  piece;  and  pretends 
to  think  I  suffer  under  a  delusion.  I  was  ill  at  the 
time  he  disposed  of  my  play;  but  I  had  written 
it  long  before  the  time  of  my  illness." 

"  How  did  he  manage  to  pass  it  off  as  his  ?  " 

"  We  were  friends  then,  as  he  says,  or  at  least 
comrades.  We  met  through  being  inmates  of  the 
same  lodging-house.  I  rather  took  to  him  at  first. 
I  thought  he  was  a  breezy,  cordial  fellow ;  mistook 
his  loudness  for  frankness,  and  found  something 
droll  and  pleasing  in  his  nasal  drawl.  That  brass- 
horn  voice !  —  ye  gods,  how  I  grew  to  shudder  at 
it  afterward !  But  I  liked  his  company  over  a  glass 
of  beer ;  he  was  convivial,  and  told  amusing  stories 
of  the  people  in  the  country  town  he  came  from, 
and  of  his  struggles  in  trying  to  get  a  start  in  busi- 
ness. I  was  struggling  as  hard  in  my  different  way 
—  a  very  different  way,  for  he  was  an  utter  savage 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  55 

as  far  as  art  and  letters  were  concerned.  But  we 
exchanged  accounts  of  our  daily  efforts  and  disap- 
pointments, and  knew  all  about  each  other's  affairs, 
—  at  least  he  knew  all  about  mine.  And  one  of 
mine  was  the  play  which  I  wrote  during  the  first 
months  of  our  acquaintance.  I  read  it  to  him,  and 
he  seemed  impressed  by  it,  or  as  much  of  it  as  he 
could  understand.  I  had  some  idea  of  sending  it 
to  an  actor  who  was  then  in  need  of  a  new  piece, 
through  the  failure  of  one  he  had  just  produced. 
My  play  seemed  rather  suitable  to  him,  and  I  told 
Bagley  I  thought  of  submitting  it  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  it  typewritten.  But  before  I  could  do  that, 
I  was  on  my  back  with  pneumonia,  utterly  helpless, 
and  not  thinking  of  anything  in  the  world  except 
how  to  draw  my  breath. 

"  The  first  thing  I  did  begin  to  worry  about,  when 
I  was  on  the  way  to  recovery,  was  my  debts,  and 
particularly  my  debt  to  the  landlady.  She  was  a 
good  woman,  and  wouldn't  let  me  be  moved  to  a 
hospital,  but  took  care  of  me  herself  through  all  my 
illness.  She  furnished  my  food  during  that  time, 
and  paid  for  my  medicines;  and,  furthermore,  I 
owed  her  for  several  weeks'  previous  rent.  So  I 
bemoaned  my  indebtedness,  and  the  hopelessness 
of  ever  getting  out  of  it,  a  thousand  times,  day  and 
night,  till  it  became  an  old  song  in  the  ears  of 


56       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Bagley.  One  day  he  came  in  with  his  face  full  of 
news,  and  told  me  he  had  got  some  money  from 
the  sale  of  a  farm,  in  which  he  had  inherited  a  ninth 
interest.  He  said  he  intended  to  risk  his  portion 
in  the  theatrical  business  —  he  had  had  some  ex- 
perience as  an  advance  agent  —  and  offered  to  buy 
my  play  outright  for  five  hundred  dollars. 

"  Well,  it  was  like  an  oar  held  out  to  a  drowning 
man.  I  had  never  before  had  as  much  money  at 
the  same  time.  It  was  enough  to  pay  all  my  debts, 
and  keep  me  on  my  feet  for  awhile  to  come.  Of 
course  I  knew  that  if  my  play  were  a  fair  success, 
the  author's  percentage  would  be  many  times  five 
hundred  dollars.  But  it  might  never  be  accepted, 
—  no  play  of  mine  had  been,  and  I  had  hawked 
two  or  three  around  among  the  managers,  —  and 
in  that  case  I  should  get  nothing  at  all.  As  for 
Bagley,  his  risk  in  producing  a  play  by  an  unknown 
man  was  great.  His  chances  of  loss  seemed  to  me 
about  nine  in  ten.  I  took  it  that  his  offer  was  out 
of  friendship.  I  grasped  at  the  immediate  certainty, 
and  the  play  became  the  property  of  Bagley. 

"  I  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that,  if 
the  play  made  a  real  success,  I  should  gain  some 
prestige  as  an  author,  and  find  an  easier  hearing 
for  future  work.  I  was  reading  a  newspaper  one 
morning  when  the  name  of  my  play  caught  my  eye. 


"  THE  PLAY    BECAME    THE    PROPERTY    OF    BAGLEY 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  57 

You  can  imagine  how  eagerly  I  started  to  read  the 
item  about  it,  and  what  my  feelings  were  when  I 
saw  that  it  was  immediately  to  be  produced  by  the 
very  actor  to  whom  I  had  talked  of  sending  it,  and 
that  the  author  was  George  A.  Bagley.  I  thought 
there  must  be  some  mistake,  and  fell  upon  Bagley 
for  an  explanation  as  soon  as  he  came  home.  He 
laughed,  as  men  of  his  kind  do  when  they  think 
they  have  played  some  clever  business  trick ;  said  he 
had  decided  to  rent  the  play  to  the  actor  instead  of 
taking  it  on  the  road  himself;  and  declared  that 
as  it  was  his  sole  property,  he  could  represent  it 
as  the  work  of  anybody  he  chose.  I  raised  a  great 
stew  about  the  matter;  wrote  to  the  newspapers, 
and  rushed  to  see  the  actor.  He  may  have  thought 
I  was  a  lunatic  from  my  excitement;  however,  he 
showed  me  the  manuscript  Bagley  had  given  him. 
It  was  typewritten,  but  the  address  of  the  typewriter 
copyist  was  on  the  cover.  I  hastened  to  the  lady, 
and  inquired  about  the  manuscript  from  which  she 
had  made  the  copy.  I  showed  her  some  of  my  pen- 
manship, but  she  assured  me  the  manuscript  was 
in  another  hand.  I  ran  home,  and  demanded  the 
original  manuscript  from  Bagley.  '  Oh,  certainly/ 
he  said,  and  fished  out  a  manuscript  in  his  own  writ- 
ing. He  had  copied  even  my  interlineations  and 
erasures,  to  give  his  manuscript  the  look  of  an  orig- 


58       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

inal  draft.  This  was  the  copy  from  which  the  type- 
writer had  worked.  My  own  handwritten  copy  he 
had  destroyed.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  when 
the  idea  first  occurred  to  him  of  submitting  my  play 
to  the  actor,  he  had  meant  to  deal  fairly  with  me, 
and  to  profit  only  by  an  agent's  commission.  But 
he  may  have  inquired  about  the  earnings  of  plays, 
and  learned  how  much  money  a  successful  one 
brings;  and  the  discovery  may  have  tempted  him 
to  the  fraud.  Or  his  design  may  have  been  complete 
from  the  first.  It  is  easy  to  understand  his  desire 
to  become  the  sole  owner  of  the  play.  Why  he 
wanted  to  figure  as  the  author  is  not  so  clear.  It 
may  have  been  mere  vanity ;  it  may  have  been  — • 
more  probably  was  —  a  desire  to  keep  to  himself 
even  the  author's  prestige,  to  serve  him  in  future 
transactions  of  the  same  sort.  In  any  case,  he  had 
created  evidence  of  his  authorship,  and  destroyed 
all  existing  proof  of  mine.  He  had  made  good 
terms,  —  a  percentage  on  a  sliding  scale ;  one  thou- 
sand dollars  down  on  account.  It  was  out  of  that 
thousand  that  he  paid  me  the  five  hundred.  The 
play  was  a  great  money-winner;  Bagley's  earnings 
from  it  were  more  than  twenty  thousand  dollars 
in  two  seasons.  That  is  the  sum  I  should  have  had 
if  I  had  submitted  the  play  to  the  same  actor,  as  I 
had  intended  to  do.  I  made  a  stir  in  the  newspapers 


A   READY -MONEY  MAN  59 

for  awhile;  told  my  tale  to  managers  and  actors 
and  reporters;  started  to  take  it  to  the  courts,  but 
had  to  give  up  for  lack  of  funds ;  in  short,  got 
myself  the  name,  as  I  told  you  to-day,  of  a  man 
with  a  grievance.  People  smiled  tolerantly  at  my 
story;  it  got  to  be  one  of  the  jokes  of  the  Rialto. 
Bagley  soon  hit  on  the  policy  of  claiming  the  author- 
ship to  my  face,  and  pretending  to  treat  my  assertion 
charitably,  as  the  result  of  a  delusion  conceived  in 
illness.  You  heard  him  to-night.  But  it  no  longer 
disturbs  me." 

"  Has  he  ever  written  any  plays  of  his  own  ? 
Or  had  any  more  produced  over  his  name  ? " 
asked  Larcher. 

"  No.  He  put  the  greater  part  of  his  profits  into 
theatrical  management.  He  multiplied  his  invest- 
ment. Then  he  '  branched  out ; '  tried  Wall  Street 
and  the  race-tracks ;  went  into  real  estate.  He  spec- 
ulates now  in  many  things.  I  don't  know  how  rich 
he  is.  He  isn't  openly  in  theatrical  management 
any  more,  but  he  still  has  large  interests  there;  he 
is  what  they  call  an  '  angel.'  " 

"  He  spoke  of  being  your  good  angel." 

"  He  has  been  the  reverse,  perhaps.  It's  true, 
many  a  time  when  I've  been  at  the  last  pinch,  he 
has  come  to  my  rescue,  employing  me  in  some  affair 
incidental  to  his  manifold  operations.  Unless  you 


60       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

have  been  hungry,  and  without  a  market  for  your 
work ;  unless  you  have  walked  the  streets  penniless, 
and  been  generally  '  despised  and  rejected  of  men,' 
you,  perhaps,  can't  understand  how  I  could  accept 
anything  at  his  hands.  But  I  could,  and  sometimes 
eagerly.  As  soon  as  possible  after  our  break,  he 
assumed  the  benevolent  attitude  toward  me.  I  re- 
sisted it  with  proper  scorn  for  a  time.  But  hard 
lines  came ;  '  my  poverty  but  not  my  will '  con- 
sented. In  course  of  time,  there  ceased  to  be  any- 
thing strange  in  the  situation.  I  got  used  to  his 
service,  and  his  pay,  yet  without  ever  compounding 
for  the  trick  he  played  me.  He  trusts  me  thor- 
oughly—  he  knows  men.  This  association  with 
him,  though  it  has  saved  me  from  desperate  straits, 
is  loathsome  to  me,  of  course.  It  has  contributed 
as  much  as  anything  to  my  self-hate.  If  I  had 
resolutely  declined  it,  I  might  have  found  other 
resources  at  the  last  extremity.  My  life  might  have 
taken  a  different  course.  That  is  why  I  say  he 
has  been,  perhaps,  the  reverse  of  a  good  angel  to 
me." 

"  But  you  must  have  written  other  plays,"  pur- 
sued Larcher. 

"  Yes ;  and  have  even  had  three  of  them  produced. 
Two  had  moderate  success ;  but  one  of  those  I  sold 
on  low  terms,  in  my  eagerness  to  have  it  accepted 


A    READ  Y  -  MONE  Y  MAN  6 1 

and  establish  a  name.  On  the  other,  I  couldn't  col- 
lect my  royalties.  The  third  was  a  failure.  But 
none  of  these,  or  of  any  I  have  written,  was  up  to 
the  level  of  the  play  that  Bagley  dealt  with.  I  admit 
that.  It  was  my  one  work  of  first-class  merit.  I 
think  my  poor  powers  were  affected  by  my  experi- 
ence with  that  play ;  but  certainly  for  some  reason  I 

"'  .  .  .  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture.' 

I  should  have  been  a  different  man  if  I  had  received 
the  honor  and  the  profits  of  that  first  accepted 
play  of  mine." 

"  I  should  think  that,  as  Bagley  is  so  rich,  he 
would  quietly  hand  you  over  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars, at  least,  for  the  sake  of  his  conscience." 

"  Men  of  Bagley's  sort  have  no  conscience  where 
money  is  concerned.  I  used  to  wonder  just  what 
share  of  his  fortune  was  rightly  mine,  if  one  knew 
how  to  estimate.  It  was  my  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars he  invested;  what  percentage  of  the  gains 
would  belong  to  me,  giving  him  his  full  due  for 
labor  and  skill  ?  And  then  the  credit  of  the  author- 
ship, —  which  he  flatly  robbed  me  of,  —  what 
would  be  its  value?  But  that  is  all  matter  for  mere 
speculation.  As  to  the  twenty  thousand  alone,  there 
can  be  no  doubt." 


62       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  And  yet  he  said  to-night  he  would  trust  you 
with  every  dollar  he  had  in  the  world." 

"Yes,  he  would."  Davenport  smiled.  "He 
knows  that  /  know  the  difference  between  a  moral 
right  and  a  legal  right.  He  knows  the  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  any  attempt  at  self -restitution  on  my 
part,  —  and  the  unpleasant  consequences.  Oh,  yes, 
he  would  trust  me  with  large  sums ;  has  done  so,  in 
fact.  I  have  handled  plenty  of  his  cash.  He  is  what 
they  call  a  '  ready-money  man ; '  does  a  good  deal 
of  business  with  bank-notes  of  high  denomination, 
—  it  enables  him  to  seize  opportunities  and  make 
swift  transactions.  He  should  interest  you,  if  you 
have  an  eye  for  character." 

Upon  which  remark,  Davenport  raised  his  cup, 
as  if  to  finish  the  coffee  and  the  subject  at  the  same 
time.  Larcher  sat  silently  wondering  what  other 
dramas  were  comprised  in  the  history  of  his  singu- 
lar companion,  besides  that  wherein  Bagley  was  con- 
cerned, and  that  in  which  the  fickle  woman  had 
borne  a  part.  He  found  himself  interested,  on  his 
own  account,  in  this  haggard-eyed,  world-wearied, 
yet  not  unattractive  man,  as  well  as  for  Miss  Hill. 
When  Davenport  spoke  again,  it  was  in  regard  to 
the  artistic  business  which  now  formed  a  tie  between 
himself  and  Larcher. 

This  business  was  in  due  time  performed.     It 


A   READY- MONEY  MAN  63 

entailed  as  much  association  with  Davenport  as 
Larcher  could  wish  for  his  purpose.  He  learnt  little 
more  of  the  man  than  he  had  learned  on  the  first  day 
of  their  acquaintance,  but  that  in  itself  was  consid- 
erable. Of  it  he  wrote  a  full  report  to  Miss  Hill; 
and  in  the  next  few  weeks  he  added  some  trifling 
discoveries.  In  October  that  young  woman  and  her 
aunt  returned  to  town,  and  to  possession  of  a  flat 
immediately  south  of  Central  Park.  Often  as 
Larcher  called  there,  he  could  not  draw  from  Edna 
the  cause  of  her  interest  in  Davenport.  But  his 
own  interest  sufficed  to  keep  him  the  regular  asso- 
ciate of  that  gentleman ;  he  planned  further  maga- 
zine work  for  himself  to  write  and  Davenport  to 
illustrate,  and  their  collaboration  took  them  to- 
gether to  various  parts  of  the  city. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AN    UNPROFITABLE    CHILD 

THE  lower  part  of  Fifth  Avenue,  the  part  between 
Madison  and  Washington  Squares,  the  part  which 
alone  was  "  the  Fifth  Avenue  "  whereof  Thackeray 
wrote  in  the  far-off  days  when  it  was  the  abode  of 
fashion,  —  the  far-off  days  when  fashion  itself  had 
not  become  old-fashioned  and  got  improved  into 
Smart  Society,  —  this  haunted  half-mile  or  more 
still  retains  many  fine  old  residences  of  brown  stone 
and  of  red  brick,  which  are  spruce  and  well-kept. 
One  such,  on  the  west  side  of  the  street,  of  red 
brick,  with  a  high  stoop  of  brown  stone,  is  a  board- 
ing-house, and  in  it  is  an  apartment  to  which,  on  a 
certain  clear,  cold  afternoon  in  October,  the  reader's 
presence  in  the  spirit  is  respectfully  invited. 

The  hallway  of  the  house  is  prolonged  far  beyond 
the  ordinary  limits  of  hallways,  in  order  to  lead 
to  a  secluded  parlor  at  the  rear,  apparently  used  by 
its  occupants  as  a  private  sitting  and  dining  room. 
At  the  left  side  of  this  room,  after  one  enters,  are 
64 


AN  UNPROFITABLE    CHILD  65 

folding  doors  opening  from  what  is  evidently  some- 
body's bed-chamber.  At  the  same  side,  further  on, 
is  a  large  window,  the  only  window  in  the  room. 
As  the  ceiling  is  so  high,  and  the  wall-paper  so  dark, 
the  place  is  rather  dim  of  light  at  all  times,  even  on 
this  sunny  autumn  afternoon  when  the  world  outside 
is  so  full  of  wintry  brightness. 

The  view  of  the  world  outside  afforded  by  the 
window  —  which  looks  southward  —  is  of  part  of 
a  Gothic  church  in  profile,  and  the  backs  of  houses, 
all  framing  an  expanse  of  gardens.  It  is  a  peaceful 
view,  and  this  back  parlor  itself,  being  such  a  very 
back  parlor,  receives  the  city's  noises  dulled  and 
softened.  One  seems  very  far,  here,  from  the  clatter 
and  bang,  the  rush  and  strenuousness,  really  so  near 
at  hand.  The  dimness  is  restful ;  it  is  relieved,  near 
the  window,  by  a  splash  of  sunlight;  and,  at  the 
rear  of  the  room,  by  a  coal  fire  in  the  grate.  The 
furniture  is  old  and  heavy,  consisting  largely  of 
chairs  of  black  wood  in  red  velvet.  Half  lying 
back  in  one  of  these  is  a  fretful-looking,  fine- 
featured  man  of  late  middle  age,  with  flowing  gray 
hair  and  flowing  gray  mustache.  His  eyes  are  closed, 
but  perhaps  he  is  not  asleep.  There  is  a  piano  near 
a  corner,  opposite  the  window,  and  out  of  the  splash 
of  sunshine,  but  its  rosewood  surface  reflects  here 
and  there  the  firelight.  And  at  the  piano,  playing 


66       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

a  soft  accompaniment,  sits  a  tall,  slender  young 
woman,  with  a  beautiful  but  troubled  face,  who 
sings  in  a  low  voice  one  of  Tosti's  love-songs. 

Her  figure  is  still  girlish,  but  her  face  is  womanly ; 
a  classic  face,  not  like  the  man's  in  expression,  but 
faintly  resembling  it  in  form,  though  her  features, 
clearly  outlined,  have  not  the  smallness  of  his.  Her 
eyes  are  large  and  deep  blue.  There  is  enough  rich 
color  of  lip,  and  fainter  color  of  cheek,  to  relieve 
the  whiteness  of  her  complexion.  The  trouble  on 
her  face  is  of  some  permanence;  it  is  not  petty  like 
that  of  the  man's,  but  is  at  one  with  the  nobility 
of  her  countenance.  It  seems  to  find  rest  in  the 
tender  sadness  of  the  song,  which,  having  finished, 
she  softly  begins  again : 

" '  I  think  of  what  thou  art  to  me, 

I  think  of  what  thou  canst  not  be '"  — 

As  the  man  gives  signs  of  animation,  such  as 
yawning,  and  moving  in  his  chair,  the  girl  breaks 
off  gently  and  looks  to  see  if  he  is  annoyed  by  the 
song.  He  opens  his  eyes,  and  says,  in  a  slow,  com- 
plaining voice: 

"  Yes,  you  can  sing,  there's  no  doubt  of  that. 
And  such  expression !  —  unconscious  expression,  too. 
What  a  pity  —  what  a  shame  —  that  your  gift 
should  be  utterly  wasted !  " 


AN  UNPROFITABLE   CHILD  67 

"  It  isn't  wasted  if  my  singing  pleases  you,  father," 
says  the  girl,  patiently. 

"  I  don't  want  to  keep  the  pleasure  all  to  my- 
self," replies  the  man,  peevishly.  "  I'm  not  selfish 
enough  for  that.  We  have  no  right  to  hide  our 
light  under  a  bushel.  The  world  has  a  claim  on 
our  talents.  And  the  world  pays  for  them,  too. 
Think  of  the  money  —  think  of  how  we  might  live ! 
Ah,  Florence,  what  a  disappointment  you've  been 
to  me!  " 

She  listens  as  one  who  has  many  times  heard  the 
same  plaint;  and  answers  as  one  who  has  as  often 
made  the  same  answer : 

"  I  have  tried,  but  my  voice  is  not  strong  enough 
for  the  concert  stage,  and  the  choirs  are  all  full." 

"  You  know  well  enough  where  your  chance  is. 
With  your  looks,  in  comic  opera  — 

The  girl  frowns,  and  speaks  for  the  first  time 
with  some  impatience :  "  And  you  know  well  enough 
my  determination  about  that.  The  one  week's  ex- 
perience I  had  — 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  interrupted  the  man.  "All 
managers  are  not  like  that  fellow.  There  are  plenty 
of  good,  gentle  young  women  on  the  comic  opera 
stage." 

"  No  doubt  there  are.  But  the  atmosphere  was 
not  to  my  taste.  If  I  absolutely  had  to  endure  it, 


68       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of  course  I  could.  But  we  are  not  put  to  that  neces- 
sity." 

"  Necessity!  Good  Heaven,  don't  we  live  poorly 
enough  ?  " 

"  We  live  comfortably  enough.  As  long  as  Dick 
insists  on  making  us  our  present  allowance  — ; 

"Insists?  I  should  think  he  would  insist!  As 
if  my  own  son,  whom  I  brought  up  and  started  in 
life,  shouldn't  provide  for  his  old  father  to  the  full 
extent  of  his  ability!  " 

"  All  the  same,  it's  a  far  greater  allowance  than 
most  sons  or  brothers  make." 

"  Because  other  sons  are  ungrateful,  and  blind  to 
their  duty,  it  doesn't  follow  that  Dick  ought  to  be. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  brought  him  up  better  than  that. 
I'm  only  sorry  that  his  sister  can't  see  things  in 
the  same  light  as  he  does.  After  all  the  trouble  of 
raising  my  children,  and  the  hopes  I've  built  on 
them  —  " 

"  But  you  know  perfectly  well,"  she  protests, 
softly,  "  that  Dick  makes  us  such  a  liberal  allow- 
ance in  order  that  I  needn't  go  out  and  earn  money. 
He  has  often  said  that.  Even  when  you  praise  him 
for  his  dutifulness  to  you,  he  says  it's  not  that, 
but  his  love  for  me.  And  because  it  is  the  free 
gift  of  his  love,  I'm  willing  to  accept  it." 

"  I  suppose  so,  I  suppose  so,"  says  the  man,  in 


AN   UNPROFITABLE    CHILD  69 

a  tone  of  resignation  to  injury.  "  It's  very  little 
that  I'm  considered,  after  all.  You  were  always 
a  pair,  always  insensible  of  the  pains  I've  taken  over 
you.  You  always  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a  matter 
of  course  that  I  should  feed  you,  and  clothe  you, 
and  educate  you." 

The  girl  sighs,  and  begins  faintly  to  touch  the 
keys  of  the  piano  again.  The  man  sighs,  too,  and 
continues,  with  a  heightened  note  of  personal  griev- 
ance: 

"  If  any  man's  hopes  ever  came  to  shipwreck,  mine 
have.  Just  look  back  over  my  life.  Look  at  the 
professional  career  I  gave  up  when  I  married  your 
mother,  in  order  to  be  with  her  more  than  I  other- 
wise could  have  been.  Look  how  poorly  we  lived,  she 
and  I,  on  the  little  income  she  brought  me.  And  then 
the  burden  of  you  children!  And  what  some  men 
would  have  felt  a  burden,  as  you  grew  up,  I  made  a 
source  of  hopes.  I  had  endowed  you  both  with  good 
looks  and  talent ;  Dick  with  business  ability,  and  you 
with  a  gift  for  music.  In  order  to  cultivate  these  ad- 
vantages, which  you  had  inherited  from  me,  I  re- 
frained from  going  into  any  business  when  your 
mother  died.  I  was  satisfied  to  share  the  small 
allowance  her  father  made  you  two  children.  I  never 
complained.  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  invest  my  time 
in  bringing  up  my  children.'  I  thought  it  would 


7<D       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

turn  out  the  most  profitable  investment  in  the  world, 
—  I  gave  you  children  that  much  credit  then.  How 
I  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  I  should  begin 
to  realize  on  the  investment !  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  can't  say  Dick  hasn't  repaid  you," 
says  the  girl.  "  He  began  to  earn  money  as  soon 
as  he  was  nineteen,  and  he  has  never  —  " 

"  Time  enough,  too,"  the  man  breaks  in.  "  It  was 
a  very  fortunate  thing  I  had  fitted  him  for  it  by 
then.  Where  would  he  have  been,  and  you,  when 
your  grandfather  died  in  debt,  and  the  allowance 
stopped  short,  if  I  hadn't  prepared  Dick  to  step  in 
and  make  his  living?  " 

"  Our  living,"  says  the  girl. 

"  Our  living,  of  course.  It  would  be  very  strange 
if  I  weren't  to  reap  a  bare  living,  at  least,  from  my 
labor  and  care.  Who  should  get  a  living  out  of 
Dick's  work  if  not  his  father,  who  equipped  him 
with  the  qualities  for  success?"  The  gentleman 
speaks  as  if,  in  passing  on  those  valuable  qualities 
to  his  son  by  heredity,  he  had  deprived  himself. 
"  Dick  hasn't  done  any  more  than  he  ought  to ;  he 
never  could.  And  yet  what  he  has  done,  is  so  much 
more  than  nothing  at  all,  that  —  "  He  stops  as  if  it 
were  useless  to  finish,  and  looks  at  his  daughter, 
who,  despite  the  fact  that  this  conversation  is  an 
almost  daily  repetition,  colors  with  displeasure. 


AN  UNPROFITABLE   CHILD  7 1 

After  a  moment,  she  gathers  some  spirit,  and  says : 
"  Well,  if  I  haven't  earned  any  money  for  you,  I've 
at  least  made  some  sacrifices  to  please  you." 

"  You  mean  about  the  young  fellow  that  hung 
on  to  us  so  close  on  our  trip  to  Europe?  " 

"  The  young  man  who  did  us  so  many  kindnesses, 
and  was  of  so  much  use  to  you,  on  our  trip  to 
Europe,"  she  corrects. 

"  He  thought  I  was  rich,  my  dear,  and  that  you 
were  an  heiress.  He  was  a  nobody,  an  adventurer, 
probably.  If  things  had  gone  any  further  between 
you  and  him,  your  future  might  have  been  ruined. 
It  was  only  another  example  of  my  solicitude  for 
you;  another  instance  that  deserves  your  thanks, 
but  elicits  your  ingratitude.  If  you  are  fastidious 
about  a  musical  career,  at  least  you  have  still  a  pos- 
sibility of  a  good  marriage.  It  was  my  duty  to 
prevent  that  possibility  from  being  cut  off." 

She  turns  upon  him  a  look  of  high  reproach. 

"  And  that  was  the  only  motive,  then,"  she  cries, 
"  for  your  tears  and  your  illness,  and  the  scenes 
that  wrung  from  me  the  promise  to  break  with 
him?  " 

"It  was  motive  enough,  wasn't  it?"  he  replies, 
defensively,  a  little  frightened  at  her  sudden  manner 
of  revolt.  "  My  thoughtfulness  for  your  future  — 
my  duty  as  a  father  —  my  love  for  my  child  —  " 


72       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  You  pretended  it  was  your  jealous  love  for  me, 
your  feeling  of  desertion,  your  loneliness.  I  might 
have  known  better !  You  played  on  my  pity,  on  my 
love  for  you,  on  my  sense  of  duty  as  a  daughter 
left  to  fill  my  mother's  place.  When  you  cried  over 
being  abandoned,  when  you  looked  so  forlorn,  my 
heart  melted.  And  that  night  when  you  said  you 
were  dying,  when  you  kept  calling  for  me  —  *  Flo, 
where  is  little  Flo  '  —  although  I  was  there  leaning 
over  you,  I  couldn't  endure  to  grieve  you,  and  I 
gave  my  promise.  And  it  was  only  that  mercenary 
motive,  after  all !  —  to  save  me  for  a  profitable  mar- 
riage! "  She  gazes  at  her  father  with  an  expression 
so  new  to  him  on  her  face,  that  he  moves  about  in 
his  chair,  and  coughs  before  answering : 

"  You  will  appreciate  my  action  some  day.  And 
besides,  your  promise  to  drop  the  man  wasn't  so 
much  to  give.  You  admitted,  yourself,  he  hadn't 
written  to  you.  He  had  afforded  you  good  cause, 
by  his  neglect." 

"  He  was  very  busy  at  that  time.  I  always 
thought  there  was  something  strange  about  his  sud- 
den failure  to  write  —  something  that  could  have 
been  explained,  if  my  promise  to  you  hadn't  kept 
me  from  inquiring." 

The  father  coughs  again,  at  this,  and  turns  his 
gaze  upon  the  fire,  which  he  contemplates  deeply, 


AN  UNPROFITABLE   CHILD  73 

to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  objects.  The  girl,  after 
regarding  him  for  a  moment,  sighs  profoundly; 
placing  her  elbows  on  the  keyboard,  she  leans  for- 
ward and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands. 

This  picture,  not  disturbed  by  further  speech, 
abides  for  several  ticks  of  the  French  clock  on  the 
mantelpiece.  Suddenly  it  is  broken  by  a  knock  at 
the  door.  Florence  sits  upright,  and  dries  her  eyes. 
A  negro  man  servant  with  a  discreet  manner  enters 
and  announces  two  visitors.  "  Show  them  in  at 
once,"  says  Florence,  quickly,  as  if  to  forestall  any 
possible  objection  from  her  father.  The  negro  with- 
draws, and  presently,  with  a  rapid  swish  of  skirts, 
in  marches  a  very  spick  and  span  young  lady,  her 
diminutive  but  exceedingly  trim  figure  dressed  like 
an  animated  fashion-plate.  She  is  Miss  Edna  Hill, 
and  she  comes  brisk  and  dashing,  with  cheeks  afire 
from  the  cold,  bringing  into  the  dull,  dreamy  room 
the  life  and  freshness  of  the  wintry  day  without. 
Behind  her  appears  a  stranger,  whose  name  Florence 
scarcely  heeded  when  it  was  announced,  and  who 
enters  with  the  solemn,  hesitant  air  of  one  hitherto 
unknown  to  the  people  of  the  house.  He  is  a  young 
man  clothed  to  be  the  fit  companion  of  Miss  Hill, 
and  he  waits  self-effacingly  while  that  young  lady 
vivaciously  greets  Florence  as  her  dearest,  and 
while  she  bestows  a  touch  of  her  gloved  fingers  and 


74       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

a  "  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Kenby,"  on  the  father.  She 
then  introduces  the  young  man  as  Mr.  Larcher,  on 
whose  face,  as  he  bows,  there  appears  a  surprised 
admiration  of  Florence  Kenby's  beauty. 

Miss  Hill  monopolizes  Florence,  however,  and 
Larcher  is  left  to  wander  to  the  fire,  and  take  a  pose 
there,  and  discuss  the  weather  with  Mr.  Kenby,  who 
does  not  seem  to  find  the  subject,  or  Larcher  himself, 
at  all  interesting,  a  fact  which  the  young  man  is 
not  slow  in  divining.  Strained  relations  immediately 
ensue  between  the  two  gentlemen. 

As  soon  as  the  young  ladies  are  over  the  prelim- 
inary burst  of  compliments  and  news,  Edna  says : 

"  I'm  lucky  to  find  you  at  home,  but  really  you 
oughtn't  to  be  moping  in  a  dark  place  like  this, 
such  a  fine  afternoon." 

"  Father  can't  go  out  because  of  his  rheumatism, 
and  I  stay  to  keep  him  company,"  replies  Florence. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Mr.  Kenby,"  says  Edna,  looking 
at  the  gentleman  rather  skeptically,  as  if  she  knew 
him  of  old  and  suspected  a  habit  of  exaggerating 
his  ailments,  "  can't  you  pass  the  time  reading  or 
something?  Florence  must  go  out  every  day ;  she'll 
ruin  her  looks  if  she  doesn't,  —  her  health,  too.  I 
should  think  you  could  manage  to  entertain  your- 
self alone  an  hour  or  two." 

"It  isn't  that,"   explains   Florence;    "he  often 


AN  UNPROFITABLE    CHILD  75 

wants  little  things  done,  and  it's  painful  for  him  to 
move  about.  In  a  house  like  this,  the  servants  aren't 
always  available,  except  for  routine  duties." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  proposes  Edna,  blithely; 
"  y°u  get  on  your  things,  dear,  and  we'll  run  around 
and  have  tea  with  Aunt  Clara  at  Purcell's.  Mr. 
Larcher  and  I  were  to  meet  her  there,  but  you  come 
with  me,  and  Mr.  Larcher  will  stay  and  look  after 
your  father.  He'll  be  very  glad  to,  I  know." 

Mr.  Larcher  is  too  much  taken  by  surprise  to 
be  able  to  say  how  very  glad  he  will  be.  Mr.  Kenby, 
with  Miss  Hill's  sharp  glance  upon  him,  seems  to 
feel  that  he  would  cut  a  poor  figure  by  opposing. 
So  Florence  is  rushed  by  her  friend's  impet- 
uosity into  coat  and  hat,  and  carried  off,  Miss  Hill 
promising  to  return  with  her  for  Mr.  Larcher  "  in 
an  hour  or  two."  Before  Mr.  Larcher  has  had  time 
to  collect  his  scattered  faculties,  he  is  alone  with  the 
pettish-looking  old  man  to  whom  he  has  felt  himself 
an  object  of  perfect  indifference.  He  glares,  with 
a  defiant  sense  of  his  own  worth,  at  the  old  man, 
until  the  old  man  takes  notice  of  his  existence. 

"  Oh,  it's  kind  of  you  to  stay,  Mr.  —  ahem.  But 
they  really  needn't  have  troubled  you.  I  can  get 
along  well  enough  myself,  when  it's  absolutely  neces- 
sary. Of  course,  my  daughter  will  be  easier  in  mind 
to  have  some  one  here." 


76       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  be  of  service  —  to  so  charming 
a  young  woman,"  says  Larcher,  very  distinctly. 

"  A  charming  girl,  yes.  I'm  very  proud  of  my 
daughter.  She's  my  constant  thought.  Children  are 
a  great  care,  a  great  responsibility." 

"  Yes,  they  are,"  asserts  Larcher,  jumping  at  the 
chance  to  show  this  uninterested  old  person  that 
wise  young  men  may  sometimes  be  entertained  un- 
awares. "  It's  a  sign  of  progress  that  parents  are 
learning  on  which  side  the  responsibility  lies.  It 
used  to  be  universally  accepted  that  the  obligation 
was  on  the  part  of  the  children.  Now  every  writer 
on  the  subject  starts  on  the  basis  that  the  obligation 
is  on  the  side  of  the  parent.  It's  hard  to  see  how 
the  world  could  have  been  so  idiotic  formerly.  As 
if  the  child,  summoned  here  in  ignorance  by  the 
parents  for  their  own  happiness,  owed  them  any- 
thing!" 

Mr.  Kenby  stares  at  the  young  man  for  a  time, 
and  then  says,  icily : 

"  I  don't  quite  follow  you." 

"  Why,  it's  very  clear,"  says  Larcher,  interested 
now  for  his  argument.  "  You  spoke  of  your  sense 
of  responsibility  toward  your  child." 

("  The  deuce  I  did!  "  thinks  Mr.  Kenby.) 

"  Well,  that  sense  is  most  natural  in  you,  and 
shows  an  enlightened  mind.  For  how  can  parents 


AN  UNPROFITABLE   CHILD  77 

feel  other  than  deeply  responsible  toward  the  being 
they  have  called  into  existence  ?  How  can  they  help 
seeing  their  obligation  to  make  existence  for  that 
being  as  good  and  happy  as  it's  in  their  power  to 
make  it?  Who  dare  say  that  there  is  a  limit  to 
their  obligation  toward  that  being?  " 

"  And  how  about  that  being's  obligations  in  re- 
turn ?  "  Mr.  Kenby  demands,  rather  loftily. 

"  That  being's  obligations  go  forward  to  the 
beings  it  in  turn  summons  to  life.  The  child,  be- 
coming in  time  a  parent,  assumes  a  parent's  debt. 
The  obligation  passes  on  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation, moving  always  to  the  future,  never  back  to 
the  past." 

"  Somewhat  original  theories ! "  sniffs  the  old 
man.  "  I  suppose,  then,  a  parent  in  his  old  age 
has  no  right  to  look  for  support  to  his  children  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  duty  of  people,  before  they  presume  to 
become  parents,  to  provide  against  the  likelihood  of 
ever  being  a  burden  to  their  children.  In  accepting 
from  their  children,  they  rob  their  children's  children. 
But  the  world  isn't  sufficiently  advanced  yet  to  make 
people  so  far-seeing  and  provident,  and  many  parents 
do  have  to  look  to  their  children  for  support.  In 
such  cases,  the  child  ought  to  provide  for  the  parent, 
but  out  of  love  or  humanity,  not  because  of  any 


78       THE   MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

purely  logical  claim.  You  see  the  difference,  of 
course." 

Mr.  Kenby  gives  a  shrug,  and  grunts  ironically. 

"  The  old-fashioned  idea  still  persists  among  the 
multitude,"  Larcher  goes  on,  "  and  many  parents 
abuse  it  in  practice.  There  are  people  who  look 
upon  their  children  mainly  as  instruments  sent 
from  Heaven  for  them  to  live  by.  From  the  time 
their  children  begin  to  show  signs  of  intelligence, 
they  lay  plans  and  build  hopes  of  future  gain  upon 
them.  It  makes  my  blood  boil,  sometimes,  to  see 
mothers  trying  to  get  their  pretty  daughters  on  the 
stage,  or  at  a  typewriter,  in  order  to  live  at  ease 
themselves.  And  fathers,  too,  by  George!  Well, 
I  don't  think  there's  a  more  despicable  type  of  hu- 
manity in  this  world  than  the  able-bodied  father 
who  brings  his  children  up  with  the  idea  of  making 
use  of  them !  " 

Mr.  Larcher  has  worked  himself  into  a  gen- 
uine and  very  hearty  indignation.  Before  he  can 
entirely  calm  down,  he  is  put  to  some  wonder  by 
seeing  his  auditor  rise,  in  spite  of  rheumatism,  and 
walk  to  the  door  at  the  side  of  the  room.  "  I  think 
I'll  lie  down  awhile,"  says  Mr.  Kenby,  curtly,  and 
disappears,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  Mr.  Lar- 
cher, after  standing  like  a  statue  for  some  time  by 
the  fire,  ensconces  himself  in  a  great  armchair  before 


AN  UNPROFITABLE    CHILD  79 

it,  and  gazes  into  it  until,  gradually  stolen  upon  by 
a  sense  of  restful  comfort  in  the  darkening  room,  he 
falls  asleep. 

He  is  awakened  by  the  gay  laugh  of  Edna  Hill, 
as  she  and  Florence  enter  the  room.  He  is  on  his 
feet  in  time  to  keep  his  slumbers  a  secret,  and  ex- 
plains that  Mr.  Kenby  has  gone  for  a  nap.  When 
the  gas  is  lit,  he  sees  that  Florence,  too,  is  bright- 
faced  from  the  outer  air,  that  her  eye  has  a  fresher 
sparkle,  and  that  she  is  more  beautiful  than  before. 
As  it  is  getting  late,  and  Edna's  Aunt  Clara  is  to  be 
picked  up  in  a  shop  in  Twenty-third  Street  where  the 
girls  have  left  her,  Larcher  is  borne  off  before  he 
can  sufficiently  contemplate  Miss  Kenby's  beauty. 
Florence  is  no  sooner  alone  than  Mr.  Kenby  comes 
out  of  the  little  chamber. 

"  I  hope  you  feel  better  for  your  nap,  father." 

"  I  didn't  sleep  any,  thank  you,"  says  Mr.  Kenby. 
"  What  an  odious  young  man  that  was !  He  has 
the  most  horrible  principles.  I  think  he  must  be 
an  anarchist,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Did  you 
enjoy  your  tea?  " 

The  odious  young  man,  walking  briskly  up  the 
lighted  avenue,  past  piano  shops  and  publishing 
houses,  praises  Miss  Kenby's  beauty  to  Edna  Hill, 
who  echoes  the  praise  without  jealousy. 

"  She's  perfectly  lovely,"  Edna  asserts,  "  and  then, 


8O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

think  of  it,  she  has  had  a  romance,  too;  but  I 
mustn't  tell  that." 

"  It's  strange  you  never  mentioned  her  to  me 
before,  being  such  good  friends  with  her." 

"  Oh,  they've  only  just  got  settled  back  in  town," 
answers  Edna,  evasively.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
the  old  gentleman?  " 

"  He  seems  a  rather  queer  sort.  Do  you  know  him 
very  well  ?  " 

"  Well  enough.  He's  one  of  those  people  whose 
dream  in  life  is  to  make  money  out  of  their  children." 

"  What !  Then  I  did  put  my  foot  in  it !  "  Larcher 
tells  of  the  brief  conversation  he  had  with  Mr. 
Kenby.  It  makes  Edna  laugh  heartily. 

"  Good  for  him !  "  she  cries.  "  It's  a  shame,  his 
treatment  of  Florence.  Her  brother  out  West  sup- 
ports them,  and  is  very  glad  to  do  so  on  her  account. 
Yet  the  covetous  old  man  thinks  she  ought  to  be 
earning  money,  too.  She's  quite  too  fond  of  him 
—  she  even  gave  up  a  nice  young  man  she  was  in 
love  with,  for  her  father's  sake.  But  listen.  I  don't 
want  you  to  mention  these  people's  names  to  any- 
body —  not  to  anybody,  mind !  Promise." 

"Very  well.     But  why?" 

"  I  won't  tell  you,"  she  says,  decidedly;  and,  when 
he  looks  at  her  in  mute  protest,  she  laughs  merrily 
at  his  helplessness.  So  they  go  on  up  the  avenue. 


CHAPTER   V. 

A     LODGING     BY     THE    RIVER 

THE  day  after  his  introduction  to  the  Kenbys, 
Larcher  went  with  Murray  Davenport  on  one  of 
those  expeditions  incidental  to  their  collaboration 
as  writer  and  illustrator.  Larcher  had  observed  an 
increase  of  the  strange  indifference  which  had  ap- 
peared through  all  the  artist's  loquacity  at  their  first 
interview.  This  loquacity  was  sometimes  repeated, 
but  more  often  Davenport's  way  was  of  silence.  His 
apathy,  or  it  might  have  been  abstraction,  usually 
wore  the  outer  look  of  dreaminess. 

"  Your  friend  seems  to  go  about  in  a  trance," 
Barry  Tompkins  said  of  him  one  day,  after  a  chance 
meeting  in  which  Larcher  had  made  the  two  ac- 
quainted. 

This  was  a  near  enough  description  of  the  man 
as  he  accompanied  Larcher  to  a  part  of  the  river- 
front not  far  from  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  on  the 
afternoon  at  which  we  have  arrived.  The  two  were 
walking  along  a  squalid  street  lined  on  one  side 

81 


82       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

with  old  brick  houses  containing  junk-shops,  ship- 
ping offices,  liquor  saloons,  sailors'  hotels,  and  all 
the  various  establishments  that  sea-folk  use.  On 
the  other  side  were  the  wharves,  with  a  throng  of 
vessels  moored,  and  glimpses  of  craft  on  the  broad 
river. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Larcher,  who  as  he  walked 
had  been  referring  to  a  pocket  map  of  the  city. 
The  two  men  came  to  a  stop,  and  Davenport  took 
from  a  portfolio  an  old  print  of  the  early  nine- 
teenth century,  representing  part  of  the  river  front. 
Silently  they  compared  this  with  the  scene  around 
them,  Larcher  smiling  at  the  difference.  Davenport 
then  looked  up  at  the  house  before  which  they  stood. 
There  was  a  saloon  on  the  ground  floor,  with  a 
miniature  ship  and  some  shells  among  the  bottles 
in  the  window. 

"  If  I  could  get  permission  to  make  a  sketch  from 
one  of  those  windows  up  there,"  said  Davenport, 
glancing  at  the  first  story  over  the  saloon. 

"  Suppose  we  go  in  and  see  what  can  be  done," 
suggested  Larcher. 

They  found  the  saloon  a  small,  homely  place, 
with  only  one  attendant  behind  the  bar  at  that  hour, 
two  marine-looking  old  fellows  playing  some  sort 
of  a  game  amidst  a  cloud  of  pipe-smoke  at  a  table, 
and  a  third  old  fellow,  not  marine-looking  but  re- 


A  LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER  83 

sembling  a  prosperous  farmer,  seated  by  himself 
in  the  enjoyment  of  an  afternoon  paper  that  was 
nearly  all  head-lines. 

Larcher  ordered  drinks,  and  asked  the  barkeeper 
if  he  knew  who  lived  overhead.  The  barkeeper,  a 
round-headed  young  man  of  unflinching  aspect, 
gazed  hard  across  the  bar  at  the  two  young  men 
for  several  seconds,  and  finally  vouchsafed  the  single 
word : 

"  Roomers." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  person  that  has  the 
front  room  up  one  flight,"  began  Larcher. 

"  All  right ;  that  won't  cost  you  nothing.  There 
he  sets."  And  the  barkeeper  pointed  to  the  rural- 
looking  old  man  with  the  newspaper,  at  the  same 
time  calling  out,  sportively :  "  Hey,  Mr.  Bud,  here's 
a  couple  o'  gents  wants  to  look  at  you." 

Mr.  Bud,  who  was  tall,  spare,  and  bent,  about 
sixty,  and  the  possessor  of  a  pleasant  knobby  face 
half  surrounded  by  a  gray  beard  that  stretched 
from  ear  to  ear  beneath  his  lower  jaw,  dropped  his 
paper  and  scrutinized  the  young  men  benevolently. 
They  went  over  to  him,  and  Larcher  explained  their 
intrusion  with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible. 

"  Why,  certainly,  certainly,"  the  old  man  chirped 
with  alacrity.  "  Glad  to  have  yuh.  I'll  be  proud 
to  do  anything  in  the  cause  of  literature.  Come 


84       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

right  up."  And  he  rose  and  led  the  way  to  the 
street  door. 

"  Take  care,  Mr.  Bud,"  said  the  jocular  barkeeper. 
"  Don't  let  them  sell  you  no  gold  bricks  or  nothin'. 
I  never  see  them  before,  so  you  can't  hold  me  if 
you  lose  your  money." 

"  You  keep  your  mouth  shut,  Mick,"  answered 
the  old  man,  "  and  send  me  up  a  bottle  o'  whisky  and 
a  siphon  o'  seltzer  as  soon  as  your  side  partner 
comes  in.  This  way,  gentlemen." 

He  conducted  them  out  to  the  sidewalk,  and  then 
in  through  another  door,  and  up  a  narrow  stairway, 
to  a  room  with  two  windows  overlooking  the  river. 
It  was  a  room  of  moderate  size,  provided  with  old 
furniture,  a  faded  carpet,  mended  curtains,  and 
lithographs  of  the  sort  given  away  with  Sunday 
newspapers.  It  had,  in  its  shabbiness,  that  curious 
effect  of  cosiness  and  comfort  which  these  shabby 
old  rooms  somehow  possess,  and  luxurious  rooms 
somehow  lack.  A  narrow  bed  in  a  corner  was 
covered  with  an  old-fashioned  patchwork  quilt. 
There  was  a  cylindrical  stove,  but  not  in  use,  as  the 
weather  had  changed  since  the  day  before;  and 
beside  the  stove,  visible  and  unashamed,  was  a 
large  wooden  box  partly  full  of  coal.  While  Larcher 
was  noticing  these  things,  and  Mr.  Bud  was  offering 
chairs,  Davenport  made  directly  for  the  window 


A    LODGING  BY   THE  RIVER  8$ 

and  looked  out  with  an  interest  limited  to  the  task 
in  hand,  and  perfunctory  even  so. 

"  This  is  my  city  residence,"  said  the  host,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair.  "  It  ain't  every  hard- worked 
countryman,  these  times,  that's  able  to  keep  up  a 
city  residence."  As  this  was  evidently  one  of  Mr. 
Bud's  favorite  jests,  Larcher  politically  smiled. 
Mr.  Bud  soon  showed  that  he  had  other  favorite 
jests.  "  Yuh  see,  I  make  my  livin'  up  the  State, 
but  every  now  and  then  I  feel  like  comin'  to  the 
city  for  rest  and  quiet,  and  so  I  keep  this  place  the 
year  round." 

"You  come  to  New  York  for  rest  and  quiet?" 
exclaimed  Larcher,  still  kindly  feigning  amusement. 

"  Sure !  Why  not  ?  As  fur  as  rest  goes,  I  just 
loaf  around  and  watch  other  people  work.  That's 
what  I  call  rest  with  a  sauce  to  it.  And  as  fur  as 
quiet  goes,  I  get  used  to  the  noises.  Any  sound 
that  don't  concern  me,  don't  annoy  me.  I  go  about 
unknown,  with  nobody  carin'  what  my  business  is, 
or  where  I'm  bound  fur.  Now  in  the  country  every- 
body wants  to  know  where  from,  and  where  to,  and 
what  fur.  The  only  place  to  be  reely  alone  is  where 
thur's  so  many  people  that  one  man  don't  count  for 
anything.  And  talk  about  noise !  —  What's  all  the 
clatter  and  bang  amount  to,  if  it's  got  nothin'  to 
do  with  your  own  movements?  Now  at  my  home 


86       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

where  the  noise  consists  of  half  a  dozen  women's 
voices  askin'  me  about  this,  and  wantin'  that,  and 
callin'  me  to  account  for  t'other,  —  that's  the  kind  o' 
noise  that  jars  a  man.  Yuh  see,  I  got  a  wife  and 
four  daughters.  They're  very  good  women  —  very 
good  women,  the  whole  bunch  —  but  I  do  find  it 
restful  and  refreshin'  to  take  the  train  to  New  York 
about  once  a  month,  and  loaf  around  a  week  or  so 
without  anybody  takin'  notice,  and  no  questions 
ast." 

"And  what  does  your  family  say  to  that?" 

"  Nothin',  now.  They  used  to  say  considerable 
when  I  first  fell  into  the  habit.  I  hev  some  poultry 
customers  here  in  the  city,  and  I  make  out  I  got  to 
come  to  look  after  business.  That  story  don't  go 
fur  with  the  fam'ly;  but  they  hev  their  way  about 
everything  else,  so  they  got  to  gimme  my  way  about 
this." 

Davenport  turned  around  from  the  window,  and 
spoke  for  the  first  time  since  entering: 

"  Then  you  don't  occupy  this  room  more  than 
half  the  time?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  close  it  up,  and  thank  the  Lord  there 
ain't  nothin'  in  it  worth  stealin'." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  Davenport  went  on,  "  if  I 
began  some  sketches  here,  and  you  left  town  before 


A  LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER  87 

they  were  done,  I  should  have  to  go  somewhere  else 
to  finish  them." 

It  was  a  remark  that  made  Larcher  wonder  a 
little,  at  the  moment,  knowing  the  artist's  usual 
methods  of  work.  But  Mr.  Bud,  ignorant  of  such 
matters,  replied  without  question: 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  That  might  be  fixed  all 
right,  I  guess." 

"  I  see  you  have  a  library,"  said  Davenport, 
abruptly,  walking  over  to  a  row  of  well-worn  books 
on  a  wooden  shelf  near  the  bed.  His  sudden  interest, 
slight  as  it  was,  produced  another  transient  surprise 
in  Larcher. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  with  pride  and  affec- 
tion, "them  books  is  my  chief  amusement.  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  works ;  I've  read  'em  over  again  and 
again,  every  one  of  'em,  though  I  must  confess 
there's  two  or  three  that's  pretty  rough  travellin'. 
But  the  others !  —  well,  I've  tried  a  good  many 
authors,  but  gimme  Scott.  Take  his  characters! 
There's  stacks  of  novels  comes  out  nowadays  that 
call  themselves  historical;  but  the  people  in  'em 
seems  like  they  was  cut  out  o'  pasteboard;  a  bit  o* 
wind  would  blow  'em  away.  But  look  at  the  body 
to  Scott's  people!  They're  all  the  way  round,  and 
clear  through,  his  characters  are.  —  Of  course,  I'm 
no  literary  man,  gentlemen.  I  only  give  my  own 


88       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

small  opinion."  Mr.  Bud's  manner,  on  his  suddenly 
considering  his  audience,  had  fallen  from  its  bold 
enthusiasm. 

"  Your  small  opinion  is  quite  right,"  said  Daven- 
port. "  There's  no  doubt  about  the  thoroughness 
and  consistency  of  Scott's  characters."  He  took  one 
of  the  books,  and  turned  over  the  leaves,  while  Mr. 
Bud  looked  on  with  brightened  eyes.  "  Andrew 
Fairservice  —  there's  a  character.  '  Gude  e'en  — 
gude  e'en  t'  ye  '  —  how  patronizing  his  first  saluta- 
tion !  '  She's  a  wild  slip,  that '  —  there  you  have 
Diana  Vernon  sketched  by  the  old  servant  in  a  touch. 
And  what  a  scene  this  is,  where  Diana  rides  with 
Frank  to  the  hilltop,  shows  him  Scotland,  and 
advises  him  to  fly  across  the  border  as  fast  as  he 
can." 

"  Yes,  and  the  scene  in  the  Tolbooth  where  Rob 
Roy  gives  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie  them  three  sufficient 
reasons  fur  not  betrayin'  him."  The  old  man 
grinned.  He  seemed  to  be  at  his  happiest  in  prais- 
ing, and  finding  another  to  praise,  his  favorite 
author. 

"  Interesting  old  illustrations  these  are,"  said 
Davenport,  taking  up  another  volume.  "  Dryburgh 
Abbey  —  that's  how  it  looks  on  a  gray  day.  I  was 
lucky  enough  to  see  it  in  the  sunshine;  it's  loveliest 
then." 


A   LODGING  BY   THE  RIVER  89 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bud.  "  You  been  to 
Dryburgh  Abbey?  —  to  Scott's  grave?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Davenport,  smiling  at  the  old 
man's  joyous  wonder,  which  was  about  the  same  as 
he  might  have  shown  upon  meeting  somebody  who 
had  been  to  fairy-land,  or  heaven,  or  some  other 
place  equally  far  from  New  York. 

"  You  don't  say !  Well,  to  think  of  it !  I  am 
happy  to  meet  you.  By  George,  I  never  expected  to 
get  so  close  to  Sir  Wralter  Scott !  And  maybe  you've 
seen  Abbots  ford?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly.  And  Scott's  Edinburgh  house 
in  Castle  Street,  and  the  house  in  George  Square 
where  he  lived  as  a  boy  and  met  Burns." 

Mr.  Bud's  excitement  was  great.  "  Maybe  you've 
seen  Holyrood  Palace,  and  High  Street  —  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  And  the  Canongate,  and  the 
Parliament  House,  and  the  Castle,  and  the  Grass- 
market,  and  all  the  rest.  It's  very  easy ;  thousands 
of  Americans  go  there  every  year.  Why  don't  you 
run  over  next  summer  ?  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  That's  all  too 
fur  away  from  home  fur  me.  The  women  are 
afraid  o'  the  water,  and  they'd  never  let  me  go 
alone.  I  kind  o'  just  drifted  into  this  New  York 
business,  but  if  I  undertook  to  go  across  the  ocean, 
that  would  be  the  last  straw.  And  I'm  afraid  I 


90       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

couldn't  get  on  to  the  manners  and  customs  over 
there.  They  say  everything's  different  from  here. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  timid  where  I  don't  know  the 
ways.  If  I  was  like  you  —  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
you'd  been  to  some  of  the  other  places  where  things 
happen  in  his  novels  ?  " 

With  a  smile,  Davenport  began  to  enumerate  and 
describe.  The  old  man  sat  enraptured.  The  whisky 
and  seltzer  came  up,  and  the  host  saw  that  the 
glasses  were  filled  and  refilled,  but  he  kept  Davenport 
to  the  same  subject.  Larcher  felt  himself  quite  out 
of  the  talk,  but  found  compensation  in  the  whisky 
and  in  watching  the  old  man's  greedy  enjoyment 
of  Davenport's  every  word.  The  afternoon  waned, 
and  all  opportunity  of  making  the  intended  sketches 
passed  for  that  day.  Mr.  Bud  was  for  lighting  up, 
or  inviting  the  young  men  to  dinner,  but  they  found 
pretexts  for  tearing  themselves  away.  They  did  not 
go,  however,  until  Davenport  had  arranged  to 
come  the  next  day  and  perform  his  neglected  task. 
Mr.  Bud  accompanied  them  out,  and  stood  on  the 
corner  looking  after  them  until  they  were  out  of 
sight. 

"  You've  made  a  hit  with  the  agriculturist,"  said 
Larcher,  as  they  took  their  way  through  a  narrow 
street  of  old  warehouses  toward  the  region  of 
skyscrapers  and  lower  Broadway. 


A   LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER  9 1 

"  Scott  is  evidently  his  hobby,"  replied  Daven- 
port, with  a  careless  smile,  "  and  I  liked  to  please 
him  in  it." 

He  lapsed  into  that  reticence  which,  as  it  was  his 
manner  during  most  of  the  time,  made  his  strange 
seasons  of  communicativeness  the  more  remarkable. 
A  few  days  passed  before  another  such  talkative 
mood  came  on  in  Larcher's  presence. 

It  was  a  drizzling,  cheerless  night.  Larcher  had 
been  to  a  dinner  in  Madison  Avenue,  and  he  thus 
found  himself  not  far  from  Davenport's  abode. 
Going  thither  upon  an  impulse,  he  beheld  the  artist 
seated  at  the  table,  leaning  forward  over  a  con- 
fusion of  old  books,  some  of  them  open.  He  looked 
pallid  in  the  light  of  the  reading  lamp  at  his  elbow, 
and  his  eyes  seemed  withdrawn  deep  into  their 
hollows.  He  welcomed  his  visitor  with  conven- 
tional politeness. 

"  How's  this  ?  "  began  Larcher.     "  Do  I  find  you 

pondering, 

" '  .  .  .  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore  ? ' " 

"  No;  merely  rambling  over  familiar  fields." 
Davenport  held  out  the  topmost  book. 

"Oh,  Shakespeare,"  laughed  Larcher.  "The 
Sonnets.  Hello,  you've  marked  part  of  this." 

"  Little  need  to  mark  anything  so  famous.     But 


92       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

it  comes  closer  to  me  than  to  most  men,  I  fancy." 
And  he  recited  slowly,  without  looking  down  at 
the  page : 

" '  When,  in  disgrace  with  Fortune  and  men's  eyes, 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate,' "  — 

He  stopped,  whereupon  Larcher,  not  to  be  behind, 
and  also  without  having  recourse  to  the  page, 
went  on : 

" '  Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possest, 
Desiring  this  man's  art  and  that  man's  scope,'  — 

"  But  I  think  that  hits  all  men,"  said  Larcher, 
interrupting  himself.  "  Everybody  has  wished  him- 
self in  somebody  else's  shoes,  now  and  again,  don't 
you  believe?  " 

"  I  have  certainly  wished  myself  out  of  my  own 
shoes,"  replied  Davenport,  almost  with  vehemence. 
"  I  have  hated  myself  and  my  failures,  God  knows ! 
I  have  wished  hard  enough  that  I  were  not  I.  But 
I  haven't  wished  I  were  any  other  person  now  exist- 
ing. I  wouldn't  change  selves  with  this  particular 
man,  or  that  particular  man.  It  wouldn't  be  enough 
to  throw  off  the  burden  of  my  memories,  with  their 
clogging  effect  upon  my  life  and  conduct,  and  take 
up  the  burden  of  some  other  man's  —  though  I 


A   LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER  93 

should  be  the  gainer  even  by  that,  in  a  thousand 
cases  I  could  name." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  exactly  mean  changing  with  some- 
body else,"  said  Larcher.  "  We  all  prefer  to  remain 
ourselves,  with  our  own  tastes,  I  suppose.  But  we 
often  wish  our  lot  was  like  somebody  else's." 

Davenport  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  prefer  to 
remain  myself,  any  more  than  to  be  some  man  whom 
I  know  or  have  heard  of.  I  am  tired  of  myself; 
weary  and  sick  of  Murray  Davenport.  To  be  a  new 
man,  of  my  own  imagining  —  that  would  be  some- 
thing ;  —  to  begin  afresh,  with  an  unencumbered 
personality  of  my  own  choosing;  to  awake  some 
morning  and  find  that  I  was  not  Murray  Davenport 
nor  any  man  now  living  that  I  know  of,  but  a  dif- 
ferent self,  formed  according  to  ideals  of  my  own. 
There  would  be  a  liberation !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Larcher,  "  if  a  man  can't  change  to 
another  self,  he  can  at  least  change  his  place  and 
his  way  of  life." 

"  But  the  old  self  is  always  there,  casting  its 
shadow  on  the  new  place.  And  even  change  of 
scene  and  habits  is  next  to  impossible  without 
money." 

"  I  must  admit  that  New  York,  and  my  present 
way  of  life,  are  good  enough  for  me  just  now," 
said  Larcher. 


94      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Davenport's  only  reply  was  a  short  laugh. 

"  Suppose  you  had  the  money,  and  could  live  as 
you  liked,  where  would  you  go?"  demanded 
Larcher,  slightly  nettled. 

"  I  would  live  a  varied  life.  Probably  it  would 
have  four  phases,  generally  speaking,  of  unequal 
duration  and  no  fixed  order.  For  one  phase,  the 
chief  scene  would  be  a  small  secluded  country-house 
in  an  old  walled  garden.  There  would  be  the  home 
of  my  books,  and  the  centre  of  my  walks  over  moors 
and  hills.  From  this,  I  would  transport  myself,  when 
the  mood  came,  to  the  intellectual  society  of  some 
large  city  —  that  of  London  would  be  most  to  my 
choice.  Mind  you,  I  say  the  intellectual  society;  a 
far  different  thing  from  the  Society  that  spells  itself 
with  a  capital  S." 

"  Why  not  of  New  York  ?  There's  intellectual 
society  here." 

"  Yes ;  a  trifle  fussy  and  self-conscious,  though. 
I  should  prefer  a  society  more  reposeful.  From  this, 
again,  I  would  go  to  the  life  of  the  streets  and  by- 
ways of  the  city.  And  then,  for  the  fourth  phase, 
to  the  direct  contemplation  of  art  —  music,  archi- 
tecture, sculpture,  painting;  —  to  haunting  the  great 
galleries,  especially  of  Italy,  studying  and  copying 
the  old  masters.  I  have  no  desire  to  originate.  I 
should  be  satisfied,  in  the  arts,  rather  to  receive  than 


A  LODGING  BY  THE  RIVER  95 

to  give;  to  be  audience  and  spectator;  to  contem- 
plate and  admire." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  may  have  your  wish  yet," 
was  all  that  Larcher  could  say. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  just  one  whack  at  life 
before  I  finish,"  replied  Davenport,  gazing  thought- 
fully into  the  shadow  beyond  the  lamplight.  "  Just 
one  taste  of  comparative  happiness." 

"  Haven't  you  ever  had  even  one?  " 

"  I  thought  I  had,  for  a  brief  season,  but  I  was 
deceived."  (Larcher  remembered  the  talk  of  an 
inconstant  woman.)  "  No,  I  have  never  been  any- 
thing like  happy.  My  father  was  a  cold  man  who 
chilled  all  around  him.  He  died  when  I  was  a  boy, 
and  left  my  mother  and  me  to  poverty.  My  mother 
loved  me  well  enough;  she  taught  me  music,  en- 
couraged my  studies,  and  persuaded  a  distant  rela- 
tion to  send  me  to  the  College  of  Medicine  and 
Surgery;  but  her  life  was  darkened  by  grief,  and 
the  darkness  fell  over  me,  too.  When  she  died, 
my  relation  dropped  me,  and  I  undertook  to  make 
a  living  in  New  York.  There  was  first  the  struggle 
for  existence,  then  the  sickening  affair  of  that  play ; 
afterward,  misfortune  enough  to  fill  a  dozen  biogra- 
phies, the  fatal  reputation  of  ill  luck,  the  brief  dream 
of  consolation  in  the  love  of  woman,  the  awakening, 
—  and  the  rest  of  it." 


g6       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

He  sighed  wearily  and  turned,  as  if  for  relief 
from  a  bitter  theme,  to  the  book  in  his  hand.  He 
read  aloud,  from  the  sonnet  out  of  which  they  had 
already  been  quoting : 

"  '  Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising  — 
Haply  I  think  on  thee;    and  then  my  state, 
Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  Heaven's  gate; 
For  thy  sweet  love  — '" 

He  broke  off,  and  closed  the  book.  "  '  For  thy 
sweet  love/  "  he  repeated.  "  You  see  even  this 
unhappy  poet  had  his  solace.  I  used  to  read  those 
lines  and  flatter  myself  they  expressed  my  situation. 
There  was  a  silly  song,  too,  that  she  pretended  to 
like.  You  know  it,  of  course,  —  a  little  poem  of 
Frank  L.  Stanton's."  He  went  to  the  piano,  and 
sang  softly,  in  a  light  baritone: 

" '  Sometimes,  dearest,  the  world  goes  wrong, 
For  God  gives  grief  with  the  gift  of  song, 
And  poverty,  too ;   but  your  love  is  more  — ' " 

Again  he  stopped  short,  and  with  a  derisive  laugh. 
"  What  an  ass  I  was !  As  if  any  happiness  that 
came  to  Murray  Davenport  could  be  real  or 
lasting!  " 

"  Oh,  never  be  disheartened,"  said  Larcher. 
"  Your  time  is  to  come;  you'll  have  your  '  whack  at 
life '  yet." 


A   LODGING  BY  THE   RIVER  97 

"It  would  be  acceptable,  if  only  to  feel  that  I  had 
realized  one  or  two  of  the  dreams  of  youth  —  the 
dreams  an  unhappy  lad  consoled  himself  with." 

"  What  were  they  ?  "  inquired  Larcher. 

"  What  were  they  not,  that  is  fine  and  pleasant? 
I  had  my  share  of  diverse  ambitions,  or  diverse 
hopes,  at  least.  You  know  the  old  Lapland  song, 
in  Longfellow : 

"  '  For  a  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 

And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts.' " 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    NAME    OF    ONE    TURL    COMES    UP 

A  MONTH  passed.  All  the  work  in  which  Larcher 
had  enlisted  Davenport's  cooperation  was  done. 
Larcher  would  have  projected  more,  but  the  artist 
could  not  be  pinned  down  to  any  definite  engage- 
ment. He  was  non-committal,  with  the  evasiveness 
of  apathy.  He  seemed  not  to  care  any  longer  about 
anything.  More  than  ever  he  appeared  to  go  about 
in  a  dream.  Larcher  might  have  suspected  some 
drug-taking  habit,  but  for  having  observed  the  man 
so  constantly,  at  such  different  hours,  and  often  with 
so  little  warning,  as  to  be  convinced  to  the  contrary. 

One  cold,  clear  November  night,  when  the  tingle 
of  the  air,  and  the  beauty  of  the  moonlight,  should 
have  aroused  any  healthy  being  to  a  sense  of  life's 
joy  in  the  matchless  late  autumn  of  New  York, 
Larcher  met  his  friend  on  Broadway.  Davenport 
was  apparently  as  much  absorbed  in  his  inner  con- 
templations, or  as  nearly  void  of  any  contemplation 
whatever,  as  a  man  could  be  under  the  most  stupe- 


THE  NAME   OF  ONE   TURL   COMES  UP  99 

fying  influences.  He  politely  stopped,  however, 
when  Larcher  did. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  the  latter  asked. 

"  Home,"  was  the  reply;  thus  amended  the  next 
instant :  "  To  my  room,  that  is." 

"  I'll  walk  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  feel 
like  stretching  my  legs." 

"  Glad  to  have  you,"  said  Davenport,  indiffer- 
ently. They  turned  from  Broadway  eastward  into 
a  cross-town  street,  high  above  the  end  of  which  rose 
the  moon,  lending  romance  and  serenity  to  the 
house-fronts.  Larcher  called  the  artist's  attention  to 
it.  Davenport  replied  by  quoting,  mechanically: 

" '  With  how  slow  steps,  O  moon,  thou  clim'st  the  sky, 
How  silently,  and  with  how  wan  a  face ! ' " 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  out  on  so  fine  a  night," 
pursued  Larcher. 

"  I  came  out  on  business,"  said  the  other.  "  I 
got  a  request  by  telegraph  from  the  benevolent 
Bag-ley  to  meet  him  at  his  rooms.  He  received  a 
'  hurry  call '  to  Chicago,  and  must  take  the  first 
train ;  so  he  sent  for  me,  to  look  after  a  few  matters 
in  his  absence." 

"  I  trust  you'll  find  them  interesting,"  said 
Larcher,  comparing  his  own  failure  with  Bagley's 
success  in  obtaining  Davenport's  services. 


IOO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Not  in  the  slightest,"  replied  Davenport. 

"  Then  remunerative,  at  least." 

"  Not  sufficiently  to  attract  me"  said  the  other. 

"  Then,  if  you'll  pardon  the  remark,  I  really  can't 
understand  —  " 

"  Mere  force  of  habit,"  replied  Davenport,  list- 
lessly. "  When  he  summons,  I  attend.  When  he 
entrusts,  I  accept.  I've  done  it  so  long,  and  so 
often,  I  can't  break  myself  of  the  habit.  That  is,  of 
course,  I  could  if  I  chose,  but  it  would  require  an 
effort,  and  efforts  aren't  worth  while  at  this  stage." 

With  little  more  talk,  they  arrived  at  the  artist's 
house. 

"  If  you  talk  of  moonlight,"  said  Davenport,  in 
a  manner  of  some  kindliness,  "  you  should  see  its 
effect  on  the  back  yards,  from  my  windows.  You 
know  how  half-hearted  the  few  trees  look  in  the 
daytime;  but  I  don't  think  you've  seen  that  view 
on  a  moonlight  night.  The  yards,  taken  as  a  whole, 
have  some  semblance  to  a  real  garden.  Will  you 
come  up  ?  " 

Larcher  assented  readily.  A  minute  later,  while 
his  host  was  seeking  matches,  he  looked  down  from 
the  dark  chamber,  and  saw  that  the  transformation 
wrought  in  the  rectangular  space  of  back  yards  had 
not  been  exaggerated.  The  shrubbery  by  the  fences 
might  have  sheltered  fairies.  The  boughs  of  the 


THE   NAME    OF  ONE    TURL    COMES   UP         IOI 

trees,  now  leafless,  gently  stirred.  Even  the  plain 
house-backs  were  clad  in  beauty. 

When  Larcher  turned  from  the  window,  Daven- 
port lighted  the  gas,  but  not  his  lamp;  then  drew 
from  an  inside  pocket,  and  tossed  on  the  table, 
something  which  Larcher  took  to  be  a  stenographer's 
note-book,  narrow,  thick,  and  with  stiff  brown 
covers.  Its  unbound  end  was  confined  by  a  thin 
rubber  band.  Davenport  opened  a  drawer  of  the 
table,  and  essayed  to  sweep  the  book  thereinto  by 
a  careless  push.  The  book  went  too  far,  struck  the 
arm  of  a  chair,  flew  open  at  the  breaking  of  the  over- 
stretched rubber,  fell  on  its  side  by  the  chair  leg, 
and  disclosed  a  pile  of  bank-notes.  These,  tightly 
flattened,  were  the  sole  contents  of  the  covers.  As 
Larcher's  startled  eyes  rested  upon  them,  he  saw 
that  the  topmost  bill  was  for  five  hundred  dollars. 

Davenport  exhibited  a  momentary  vexation,  then 
picked  up  the  bills,  and  laid  them  on  the  table  in 
full  view. 

"  Bagley's  money,"  said  he,  sitting  down  before 
the  table.  "I'm  to  place  it  for  him  to-morrow. 
This  sudden  call  to  Chicago  prevents  his  carrying 
out  personally  some  plans  he  had  formed.  So  he 
entrusts  the  business  to  the  reliable  Davenport." 

"  When  I  walked  home  with  you,  I  had  no  idea 


IO2       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

I  was  in  the  company  of  so  much  money,"  said 
Larcher,  who  had  taken  a  chair  near  his  friend. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there's  another  man  in  New 
York  to-night  with  so  much  ready  money  on  his 
person,"  said  Davenport,  smiling.  "  These  are  large 
bills,  you  know.  Ironical,  isn't  it  ?  Think  of  Murray 
Davenport  walking  about  with  twenty  thousand 
dollars  in  his  pocket." 

"  Twenty  thousand !  Why,  that's  just  the  amount 
you  were  —  "  Larcher  checked  himself. 

"  Yes,"  said  Davenport,  unmoved.  "  Just  the 
amount  of  Bagley's  wealth  that  morally  belongs  to 
me,  not  considering  interest.  I  could  use  it,  too, 
to  very  good  advantage.  With  my  skill  in  the  art 
of  frugal  living,  I  could  make  it  go  far  —  exceed- 
ingly far.  I  could  realize  that  plan  of  a  congenial 
life,  which  I  told  you  of  one  night  here.  There 
it  is ;  here  am  I ;  and  if  right  prevailed,  it  would  be 
mine.  Yet  if  I  ventured  to  treat  it  as  mine,  I 
should  land  in  a  cell.  Isn't  it  a  silly  world?" 

He  languidly  replaced  the  bills  between  the  note- 
book covers,  and  put  them  in  the  drawer.  As  he 
did  so,  his  glance  fell  on  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  there. 
With  a  curious,  half-mirthful  expression  on  his  face, 
he  took  this  up,  and  handed  it  to  Larcher,  saying: 

"  You  told  me  once  you  could  judge  character 


THE  NAME   OF  ONE    TURL   COMES   UP         1 03 

by  handwriting.    What  do  you  make  of  this  man's 
character  ?  " 

Larcher  read  the  following  note,  which  was 
written  in  a  small,  precise,  round  hand : 

"  MY  DEAR  DAVENPORT  :  —  I  will  meet  you  at  the 
place  and  time  you  suggest.  We  can  then,  I  trust, 
come  to  a  final  settlement,  and  go  our  different  ways. 
Till  then  I  have  no  desire  to  see  you ;  and  afterward, 
still  less.  Yours  truly, 

"  FRANCIS  TURL." 

"  Francis  Turl,"  repeated  Larcher.  "  I  never 
heard  the  name  before." 

"  No,  I  suppose  you  never  have,"  replied  Daven- 
port, dryly.  "  But  what  character  would  you  infer 
from  his  penmanship?  " 

"Well, —  I  don't  know."  Put  to  the  test, 
Larcher  was  at  a  loss.  "  An  educated  person,  I 
should  think;  even  scholarly,  perhaps.  Fastidious, 
steady,  exact,  reserved,  —  that's  about  all." 

"  Not  very  much,"  said  Davenport,  taking  back 
the  sheet.  "  You  merely  describe  the  handwriting 
itself.  Your  characterization,  as  far  as  it  goes, 
would  fit  men  who  write  very  differently  from  this. 
It  fits  me,  for  instance,  and  yet  look  at  my  angular 
scrawl."  He  held  up  a  specimen  of  his  own  irregular 


104       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

hand,  beside  the  elegant  penmanship  of  the  note,  and 
Larcher  had  to  admit  himself  a  humbug  as  a  graph- 
ologist. 

"  But,"  he  demanded,  "  did  my  description  happen 
to  fit  that  particular  man  —  Francis  Turl?" 

"  Oh,  more  or  less,"  said  Davenport,  evasively, 
as  if  not  inclined  to  give  any  information  about  that 
person.  This  apparent  disinclination  increased 
Larcher's  hidden  curiosity  as  to  who  Francis  Turl 
might  be,  and  why  Davenport  had  never  mentioned 
him  before,  and  what  might  be  between  the  two  for 
settlement. 

Davenport  put  Turl's  writing  back  into  the 
drawer,  but  continued  to  regard  his  own.  "  '  A  vile 
cramped  hand,'  "  he  quoted.  "  I  hate  it,  as  I  have 
grown  to  hate  everything  that  partakes  of  me,  or 
proceeds  from  me.  Sometimes  I  fancy  that  my 
abominable  handwriting  had  as  much  to  do  with 
alienating  a  certain  fair  inconstant  as  the  news  of 
my  reputed  unluckiness.  Both  coming  to  her  at 
once,  the  combined  effect  was  too  much." 

"  Why  ?  —  Did  you  break  that  news  to  her  by 
letter?" 

"  That  seems  strange  to  you,  perhaps.  But  you 
see,  at  first  it  didn't  occur  to  me  that  I  should  have 
to  break  it  to  her  at  all.  We  met  abroad ;  we  were 


THE  NAME   OF  ONE    TURL    COMES   UP         105 

tourists  whose  paths  happened  to  cross.  Over  there 
I  almost  forgot  about  the  bad  luck.  It  wasn't  till 
both  of  us  were  back  in  New  York,  that  I  felt  I 
should  have  to  tell  her,  lest  she  might  hear  it  first 
from  somebody  else.  But  I  shied  a  little  at  the  pros- 
pect, just  enough  to  make  me  put  the  revelation  off 
from  day  to  day.  The  more  I  put  it  off,  the  more 
difficult  it  seemed  —  you  know  how  the  smallest 
matter,  even  the  writing  of  an  overdue  letter,  grows 
into  a  huge  task  that  way.  So  this  little  ordeal  got 
magnified  for  me,  and  all  that  winter  I  couldn't 
brace  myself  to  go  through  it.  In  the  spring, 
Bagley  had  use  for  me  in  his  affairs,  and  he  kept 
me  busy  night  and  day  for  two  weeks.  When  I 
got  free,  I  was  surprised  to  find  she  had  left  town. 
I  hadn't  the  least  idea  where  she'd  gone;  till  one 
day  I  received  a  letter  from  her.  She  wrote  as  if 
she  thought  I  had  known  where  she  was;  she  re- 
proached me  with  negligence,  but  was  friendly 
nevertheless.  I  replied  at  once,  clearing  myself  of 
the  charge;  and  in  that  same  letter  I  unburdened 
my  soul  of  the  bad  luck  secret.  It  was  easier  to 
write  it  than  speak  it." 
"And  what  then?" 

"  Nothing.    I  never  heard  from  her  again." 
"  But  your  letter  may  have  miscarried,  —  some- 
thing of  that  sort." 


IO6       THE   MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  I  made  allowance  for  that,  and  wrote  another 
letter,  which  I  registered.  She  got  that  all  right, 
for  the  receipt  came  back,  signed  by  her  father. 
But  no  answer  ever  came  from  her,  and  I  was  a  bit 
too  proud  to  continue  a  one-sided  correspondence. 
So  ended  that  chapter  in  the  harrowing  history  of 
Murray  Davenport.  —  She  was  a  fine  young  woman, 
as  the  world  judges;  she  reminded  me,  in  some 
ways,  of  Scott's  heroines." 

"  Ah !  that's  why  you  took  kindly  to  the  old 
fellow  by  the  river.  You  remember  his  library  — 
made  up  entirely  of  Scott?  " 

"  Oh,  that  wasn't  the  reason.  He  interested  me; 
or  at  least  his  way  of  living  did." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  wasn't  fabricating  a  little.  These 
old  fellows  from  the  country  like  to  make  themselves 
amusing.  They're  not  so  guileless." 

"  I  know  that,  but  Mr.  Bud  is  genuine.  Since 
that  day,  he's  been  home  in  the  country  for  three 
weeks,  and  now  he's  back  in  town  again  for  a  '  short 
spell,'  as  he  calls  it." 

"You  still  keep  in  touch  with  him?"  asked 
Larcher,  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes.  He's  been  very  hospitable  —  allowing 
me  the  use  of  his  room  to  sketch  in." 

"  Even  during  his  absence  ?  " 


THE  NAME   OF  ONE    TURL    COMES   UP         IO/ 

"  Yes ;  why  not  ?  I  made  some  drawings  for 
him,  of  the  view  from  his  window.  He's  proud 
of  them." 

Something  in  Davenport's  manner  seemed  to 
betray  a  wish  for  reticence  on  the  subject  of  Mr. 
Bud,  even  a  regret  that  it  had  been  broached.  This 
stopped  Larcher's  inquisition,  though  not  his  curi- 
osity. He  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  rose,  with 
the  words : 

"  Well,  I'm  keeping  you  up.  Many  thanks  for 
the  sight  of  your  moonlit  garden.  When  shall  I 
see  you  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  run  in  any  time.  It  isn't  so  far  out  of 
your  way,  even  if  you  don't  find  me  here." 

"  I'd  like  you  to  glance  over  the  proofs  of  my 
Harlem  Lane  article.  I  shall  have  them  day  after 
to-morrow.  Let's  see  —  I'm  engaged  for  that  day. 
How  will  the  next  day  suit  you  ?  " 

"  All  right.     Come  the  next  day  if  you  like." 

"  That'll  be  Friday.  Say  one  o'clock,  and  we 
can  go  out  and  lunch  together." 

"  Just  as  you  please." 

"  One  o'clock  on  Friday  then.    Good  night !  " 

"  Good  night !  " 

At  the  door,  Larcher  turned  for  a  moment  in 
passing  out,  and  saw  Davenport  standing  by  the 


108       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

table,  looking  after  him.  What  was  the  inscrutable 
expression  —  half  amusement,  half  friendliness  and 
self-accusing  regret  —  which  faintly  relieved  for 
a  moment  the  indifference  of  the  man's  face? 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MYSTERY    BEGINS 

THE  discerning  reader  will  perhaps  think  Mr. 
Thomas  Larcher  a  very  dull  person  in  not  having 
yet  put  this  and  that  together  and  associated  the  love- 
affair  of  Murray  Davenport  with  the  "  romance  " 
of  Miss  Florence  Kenby.  One  might  suppose  that 
Edna  Hill's  friendship  for  Miss  Kenby,  and  her 
inquisitiveness  regarding  Davenport,  formed  a  suffi- 
cient pair  of  connecting  links.  But  the  still  more 
discerning  reader  will  probably  judge  otherwise. 
For  Miss  Hill  had  many  friends  whom  she  brought 
to  Larcher's  notice,  and  Miss  Kenby  did  not  stand 
alone  in  his  observation,  as  she  necessarily  does  in 
this  narrative.  Larcher,  too,  was  not  as  fully  in 
possession  of  the  circumstances  as  the  reader.  Nor, 
to  him,  were  the  circumstances  isolated  from  the 
thousands  of  others  that  made  up  his  life,  as  they 
are  to  the  reader.  Edna's  allusion  to  Miss  Kenby's 
"  romance"  had  been  cursory;  Larcher  understood 
only  that  she  had  given  up  a  lover  to  please  her 
109 


110      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

father.  Davenport's  inconstant  had  abandoned  him 
because  he  was  unlucky;  Larcher  had  always  con- 
ceived her  as  such  a  woman,  and  so  of  a  different 
type  from  that  embodied  in  Miss  Kenby.  To  be 
sure,  he  knew  now  that  Davenport's  fickle  one  had 
a  father ;  but  so  had  most  young  women.  In  short, 
the  small  connecting  facts  had  no  such  significance 
in  his  mind,  where  they  were  not  grouped  away  from 
other  facts,  as  they  must  have  in  these  pages,  where 
their  very  presence  together  implies  inter-relation. 

In  his  reports  to  Edna,  a  certain  delicacy  had 
made  him  touch  lightly  upon  the  traces  of  Daven- 
port's love-affair.  He  may,  indeed,  have  guessed 
that  those  traces  were  what  she  was  most  desirous 
to  hear  of.  But  a  certain  manly  allegiance  to  his 
sex  kept  him  reticent  on  that  point  in  spite  of  all 
her  questions.  He  did  not  even  say  to  what  motive 
Davenport  ascribed  the  false  one's  fickleness;  nor 
what  was  Davenport's  present  opinion  of  her.  "  He 
was  thrown  over  by  some  woman  whose  name  he 
never  mentions;  since  then  he  has  steered  clear 
of  the  sex,"  was  what  Larcher  replied  to  Edna  a 
hundred  times,  in  a  hundred  different  sets  of 
phrases;  and  it  was  all  he  replied  on  the  subject. 

So  matters  stood  until  two  days  after  the  inter- 
view related  in  the  previous  chapter.  At  the  end 
of  that  interview,  Larcher  had  said  that  for  the 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  I  1 1 

second  day  thereafter  he  was  engaged;  hence  he 
had  appointed  the  third  day  for  his  next  meeting 
with  Davenport.  The  engagement  for  the  second 
day  was,  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  Edna  Hill 
at  a  riding-school.  Upon  arriving  at  the  flat  where 
Edna  lived  under  the  mild  protection  of  her  easy- 
going aunt,  he  found  Miss  Kenby  included  in  the 
arrangement.  To  this  he  did  not  object;  Miss 
Kenby  was  kind  as  well  as  beautiful;  and  Larcher 
was  not  unwilling  to  show  the  tyrannical  Edna  that 
he  could  play  the  cavalier  to  one  pretty  girl  as  well 
as  to  another.  He  did  not,  however,  manage  to 
disturb  her  serenity  at  all  during  the  afternoon.  The 
three  returned,  very  merry,  to  the  flat,  in  a  state  of 
the  utmost  readiness  for  afternoon  tea,  for  the  day 
was  cold  and  blowy.  To  make  things  pleasanter, 
Aunt  Clara  had  finished  her  tea  and  was  taking  a 
nap.  The  three  young  people  had  the  drawing- 
room,  with  its  bright  coal  fire,  to  themselves. 

Everything  was  trim  and  elegant  in  this  flat. 
The  clear-skinned  maid  who  placed  the  tea  things, 
and  brought  the  muffins  and  cake,  might  have  been 
transported  that  instant  from  Mayfair,  on  a  magic 
carpet,  so  neat  was  her  black  dress,  so  spotless  her 
white  apron,  cap,  and  cuffs,  so  clean  her  slender 
hands. 


112       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  What  a  sweet  place  you  have,  Edna,"  remarked 
Florence  Kenby,  looking  around. 

"  So  you've  often  said  before,  dear.  And  when- 
ever you  choose  to  make  it  sweeter,  for  good,  you've 
only  got  to  move  in." 

Florence  laughed,  but  with  something  very  like 
a  sigh. 

"  What,  are  you  willing  to  take  boarders?  "  said 
Larcher.  "  If  that's  the  case,  put  me  down  as  the 
first  applicant." 

"  Our  capacity  for  '  paying  guests '  is  strictly 
limited  to  one  person,  and  no  gentlemen  need  apply. 
Two  lumps,  Flo  dear?  " 

"  Yes,  please.  —  If  only  your  restrictions  didn't 
keep  out  poor  father  —  " 

"If  only  your  poor  father  would  consider  your 
happiness  instead  of  his  own  selfish  plans." 

"  Edna,  dear !    You  mustn't." 

"  Why  mustn't  I  ?  "  replied  Edna,  pouring  tea. 
"  Truth's  truth.  He's  your  father,  but  I'm  your 
friend,  and  you  know  in  your  heart  which  of  us 
would  do  more  for  you.  You  know,  and  he  knows, 
that  you'd  be  happier,  and  have  better  health,  if  you 
came  to  live  with  us.  If  he  really  loves  you,  why 
doesn't  he  let  you  come?  He  could  see  you  often 
enough.  But  I  know  the  reason ;  he's  afraid  you'd 
get  out  of  his  control;  he  has  his  own  projects. 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  113 

You  needn't  mind  my  saying  this  before  Tom 
Larcher;  he  read  your  father  like  a  book  the  first 
time  he  ever  met  him." 

Larcher,  in  the  act  of  swallowing  some  buttered 
muffin,  instantly  looked  very  wise  and  penetrative. 

"  I  should  think  your  father  himself  would  be 
happier,"  said  he,  "  if  he  lived  less  privately  and 
had  more  of  men's  society." 

"  He's  often  in  poor  health,"  replied  Florence. 

"  In  that  case,  there  are  plenty  of  places,  half 
hotel,  half  sanatorium,  where  the  life  is  as  luxurious 
as  can  be." 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  deserting  him.  Even  if  he 
—  weren't  altogether  unselfish  about  me,  there  would 
always  be  my  promise." 

"What  does  that  matter  —  such  a  promise?" 
inquired  Edna,  between  sips  of  tea. 

"  You  would  make  one  think  you  were  perfectly 
unscrupulous,  dear,"  said  Florence,  smiling.  "  But 
you  know  as  well  as  I,  that  a  promise  is  sacred." 

"  Not  all  promises.     Are  they,  Tommy  ?  " 

"  No,  not  all,"  replied  Larcher.  "  It's  like  this : 
When  you  make  a  bad  promise,  you  inaugurate  a 
wrong.  As  long  as  you  keep  that  promise,  you 
perpetuate  that  wrong.  The  only  way  to  end  the 
wrong,  is  to  break  the  promise." 

"  Bravo,  Tommy !    You  can't  get  over  logic  like 


114      TffE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

that,  Florence,  dear,  and  your  promise  did  inaugu- 
rate a  wrong  —  a  wrong  against  yourself." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  allowable  to  wrong  oneself," 
said  Florence. 

"  But  not  one's  friends  —  one's  true,  disinterested 
friends.  And  as  for  that  other  promise  of  yours  — 
that  fearful  promise!  —  you  can't  deny  you  wronged 
somebody  by  that;  somebody  you  had  no  right  to 
wrong." 

"  It  was  a  choice  between  him  and  my  father," 
replied  Florence,  in  a  low  voice,  and  turning  very 
red. 

"  Very  well ;  which  deserved  to  be  sacrificed  ?  " 
cried  Edna,  her  eyes  and  tone  showing  that  the 
subject  was  a  heating  one.  "  Which  was  likely  to 
suffer  more  by  the  sacrifice?  You  know  perfectly 
well  fathers  don't  die  in  those  cases,  and  consequently 
your  father's  hysterics  must  have  been  put  on  for 
effect.  Oh,  don't  tell  me!  —  it  makes  me  wild  to 
think  of  it !  Your  father  would  have  been  all  right 
in  a  week;  whereas  the  other  man's  whole  life  is 
darkened." 

"  Don't  say  that,  dear,"  pleaded  Florence,  gently. 
"  Men  soon  get  over  such  things." 

"  Not  so  awfully  soon;  —  not  sincere  men.  Their 
views  of  life  are  changed,  for  all  time.  And  this 


MYSTER  Y  BEGINS  1 1 5 

man  seems  to  grow  more  and  more  melancholy,  if 
what  Tom  says  is  true." 

"  What  I  say?  "  exclaimed  Larcher. 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Goodness !    I  have  given  it  away !  "  cried  Edna, 

"  More  and  more  melancholy  ?  "  repeated  Larcher. 
"  Why,  that  must  be  Murray  Davenport.  Was  he 
the  —  ?  Then  you  must  be  the  — !  But  surely  you 
wouldn't  have  given  him  up  on  account  of  the  bad 
luck  nonsense." 

"  Bad  luck  nonsense?  "  echoed  Edna,  while  Miss 
Kenby  looked  bewildered. 

"  The  silly  idea  of  some  foolish  people,  that  he 
carried  bad  luck  with  him,"  Larcher  explained, 
addressing  Florence.  "  He  sent  you  a  letter  about 
it." 

"  I  never  got  any  such  letter  from  him,"  said 
Florence,  in  wonderment. 

"  Then  you  didn't  know  ?  And  that  had  nothing 
to  do  with  your  giving  him  up?  " 

"  Indeed  it  had  not !  Why,  if  I'd  known  about 
that —  But  the  letter  you  speak  of  —  when  was 
it  ?  I  never  had  a  letter  from  him  after  I  left  town. 
He  didn't  even  answer  when  I  told  him  we  were 
going." 

"  Because  he  never  heard  you  were  going.  He 
got  a  letter  after  you  had  gone,  and  then  he  wrote 


Il6       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

you  about  the  bad  luck  nonsense.  There  must  have 
been  some  strange  defect  in  your  mail  arrange- 
ments." 

"  I  always  thought  some  letters  must  have  gone 
astray  and  miscarried  between  us.  I  knew  he 
couldn't  be  so  negligent.  I'd  have  taken  pains  to 
clear  it  up,  if  I  hadn't  promised  my  father  just 
at  that  time  —  "  She  stopped,  unable  to  control  her 
voice  longer.  Her  lips  were  quivering. 

"  Speaking  of  your  father,"  said  Larcher,  "  you 
must  have  got  a  subsequent  letter  from  Davenport, 
because  he  sent  it  registered,  and  the  receipt  came 
back  with  your  father's  signature." 

"  No,  I  never  got  that,  either,"  said  Florence, 
before  the  inference  struck  her.  When  it  did,  she 
gazed  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  helpless,  wounded 
look,  and  blushed  as  if  the  shame  were  her  own. 

Edna  Hill's  eyes  blazed  with  indignation,  then 
softened  in  pity  for  her  friend.  She  turned  to 
Larcher  in  a  very  calling-to-account  manner. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  all  this  before?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  it  was  necessary.  And  besides, 
he  never  told  me  about  the  letters  till  the  night  before 
last." 

"  And  all  this  time  that  poor  young  man  has 
thought  Florence  tossed  him  over  because  of  some 
ridiculous  notion  about  bad  luck  ?  " 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  \  17 

"  Well,  more  or  less,  —  and  the  general  fickleness 
of  the  sex." 

"  General  fick — !  And  you,  having  seen  Flor- 
ence, let  him  go  on  thinking  so?  " 

"  But  I  didn't  know  Miss  Kenby  was  the  lady 
he  meant.  If  you'd  only  told  me  it  was  for  her  you 
wanted  news  of  him  —  " 

"  Stupid,  you  might  have  guessed !  But  I  think 
it's  about  time  he  had  some  news  of  her.  He  ought 
to  know  she  wasn't  actuated  by  any  such  paltry, 
childish  motive." 

"  By  George,  I  agree  with  you !  "  cried  Larcher, 
with  a  sudden  energy.  "If  you  could  see  the  effect 
on  the  man,  of  that  false  impression,  Miss  Kenby! 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  his  state  of  mind  is  entirely 
due  to  that;  he  had  causes  enough  before.  But 
it  needed  only  that  to  take  away  all  consolation, 
to  stagger  his  faith,  to  kill  his  interest  in  life." 

"Has  it  made  him  so  bitter?"  asked  Florence, 
sadly. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  the  effect  bitterness.  He  has 
too  lofty  a  mind  for  strong  resentment.  That  false 
impression  has  only  brought  him  to  the  last  stage 
of  indifference.  I  should  say  it  was  the  finishing 
touch  to  making  his  life  a  wearisome  drudgery, 
without  motive  or  hope." 

Florence  sighed  deeply. 


Il8       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  To  think  that  he  could  believe  such  a  thing 
of  Florence,"  put  in  Edna.  "  I'm  sure  /  couldn't. 
Could  you,  Tom?" 

"  When  a  man's  in  love,  he  doesn't  see  things 
in  their  true  proportions,"  said  Larcher,  authori- 
tatively. "  He  exaggerates  both  the  favors  and  the 
rebuffs  he  gets,  both  the  kindness  and  the  coldness 
of  the  woman.  If  he  thinks  he's  ill-treated,  he 
measures  the  supposed  cause  by  his  sufferings.  As 
they  are  so  great,  he  thinks  the  woman's  cruelty 
correspondingly  great.  Nobody  will  believe  such 
good  things  of  a  woman  as  the  man  who  loves 
her;  but  nobody  will  believe  such  bad  things  if 
matters  go  wrong." 

"  Dear,  dear,  Tommy !  What  a  lot  you  know 
about  it ! " 

But  Miss  Hill's  momentary  sarcasm  went  un- 
heeded. "  So  I  really  think,  Miss  Kenby,  if  you'll 
pardon  me,"  Larcher  continued,  "that  Murray 
Davenport  ought  to  know  your  true  reason  for 
giving  him  up.  Even  if  matters  never  go  any 
further,  he  ought  to  know  that  you  still  —  h'm  — 
feel  an  interest  in  him  —  still  wish  him  well.  I'm 
sure  if  he  knew  about  your  solicitude  —  how  it  was 
the  cause  of  my  looking  him  up  —  I  can  see  through 
all  that  now  —  " 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  1 19 

"  I  can  never  thank  you  enough  —  and  Edna," 
said  Florence,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  No  thanks  are  due  me,"  replied  Larcher,  em- 
phatically. "  I  value  his  acquaintance  on  its  own 
account.  But  if  he  knew  about  this,  knew  your  real 
motives  then,  and  your  real  feelings  now,  even  if  he 
were  never  to  see  you  again,  the  knowledge  would 
have  an  immense  effect  on  his  life.  I'm  sure  it 
would.  It  would  restore  his  faith  in  you,  in  woman, 
in  humanity.  It  would  console  him  inexpressibly; 
would  be  infinitely  sweet  to  him.  It  would  change 
the  color  of  his  view  of  life;  give  him  hope  and 
strength;  make  a  new  man  of  him." 

Florence's  eyes  glistened  through  her  tears.  "  I 
should  be  so  glad,"  she  said,  gently,  "  if  —  if  only 
'—you  see,  I  promised  not  to  hold  any  sort  of 
communication  with  him." 

"Oh,  that  promise!"  cried  Edna.  "Just  think 
how  it  was  obtained.  And  think  about  those  letters 
that  were  stopped.  If  that  alone  doesn't  release  you, 
I  wonder  what !  " 

Florence's  face  clouded  with  humiliation  at  the 
reminder. 

"  Moreover,"  said  Larcher,  "  you  won't  be  holding 
communication.  The  matter  has  come  to  my  knowl- 
edge fairly  enough,  through  Edna's  lucky  forgetful- 
ness.  I  take  it  on  myself  to  tell  Davenport.  I'm  to 


I2O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

meet  him  to-morrow,  anyhow  —  it  looks  as  though 
it  had  all  been  ordained.  I  really  don't  see  how  you 
can  prevent  me,  Miss  Kenby." 

Florence's  face  threw  off  its  cloud,  and  her  con- 
science its  scruples,  and  a  look  of  gratitude  and 
relief,  almost  of  sudden  happiness,  appeared. 

"  You  are  so  good,  both  of  you.  There's  nothing 
in  the  world  I'd  rather  have  than  to  see  him  made 
happy." 

"  If  you'd  like  to  see  it  with  your  own  eyes," 
said  Larcher,  "let  me  send  him  to  you  for  the 
news." 

"  Oh,  no !  I  don't  mean  that.  He  mustn't  know 
where  to  find  me.  If  he  came  to  see  me,  I  don't 
know  what  father  would  do.  I've  been  so  afraid 
of  meeting  him  by  chance;  or  of  his  finding  out 
I  was  in  New  York." 

Larcher  understood  now  why  Edna  had  prohibited 
his  mentioning  the  Kenbys  to  anybody.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "  in  that  case,  Murray  Davenport  shall  be 
made  happy  by  me  at  about  one  o'clock  to-morrow 
afternoon." 

"  And  you  shall  come  to  tea  afterward  and  tell 
us  all  about  it,"  cried  Edna.  "Flo,  you  must  be 
here  for  the  news,  if  I  have  to  go  in  a  hansom 
and  kidnap  you." 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  121 

"  I  think  I  can  come  voluntarily,"  said  Florence, 
smiling  through  her  tears. 

"  And  let's  hope  this  is  only  the  beginning  of 
matters,  in  spite  of  any  silly  old  promise  obtained 
by  false  pretences!  I  say,  we've  let  our  tea  get 
cold.  I  must  have  another  cup."  And  Miss  Hill 
rang  for  fresh  hot  water. 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  that  drawing-room 
was  all  mirth  and  laughter;  the  innocent,  sweet 
laughter  of  youth  enlisted  in  the  generous  cause  of 
love  and  truth  against  the  old,  old  foes  —  mercenary 
design,  false  appearance,  and  mistaken  duty. 

Larcher  had  two  reasons  for  not  going  to  his 
friend  before  the  time  previously  set  for  his  call. 
In  the  first  place  he  had  already  laid  out  his  time 
up  to  that  hour,  and,  secondly,  he  would  not  hazard 
the  disappointment  of  arriving  with  his  good  news 
ready,  and  not  finding  his  friend  in.  To  be  doubly 
sure,  he  telegraphed  Davenport  not  t6  forget  the 
appointment  on  any  account,  as  he  had  an  impor- 
tant disclosure  to  make.  Full  of  his  revelation,  then, 
he  rang  the  bell  of  his  friend's  lodging-house  at 
precisely  one  o'clock  the  next  day. 

"  I'll  go  right  up  to  Mr.  Davenport's  room,"  he 
said  to  the  negro  boy  at  the  door. 

"  All  right,  sir,  but  I  don't  think  you'll  find  Mr. 


122       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Davenport  up  there,"  replied  the  servant,  glancing 
at  a  brown  envelope  on  the  hat-stand. 

Larcher  saw  that  it  was  addressed  to  Murray 
Davenport.  "  When  did  that  telegram  come?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  Last  evening." 

"  It  must  be  the  one  I  sent.  And  he  hasn't  got  it 
yet !  Do  you  mean  he  hasn't  been  in  ?  " 

Heavy  slippered  footsteps  in  the  rear  of  the  hall 
announced  the  coming  of  somebody,  who  proved  to 
be  a  rather  fat  woman  in  a  soiled  wrapper,  with 
tousled  light  hair,  flabby  face,  pale  eyes,  and  a 
worried  but  kindly  look.  Larcher  had  seen  her 
before;  she  was  the  landlady. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  Mr.  Davenport?  " 
she  asked,  quickly. 

"  No,  madam,  except  that  I  was  to  call  on  him 
here  at  one  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  then,  he  may  be  here  to  meet  you.  When 
did  you  make  that  engagement  ?  " 

"  On  Tuesday,  when  I  was  here  last !  Why  ?  — 
What's  the  matter?" 

"  Tuesday  ?  I  was  in  hopes  you  might  'a'  made 
it  since.  Mr.  Davenport  hasn't  been  home  for  two 
days ! " 

"  Two  days !     Why,  that's  rather  strange !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is ;  because  he  never  stayed  away  over- 


"  '  I'M    AFRAID    IT'S    A    CASE    OK    MYSTERIOUS 
DISAPPEARANCE  '  " 


MYSTERY  BEGINS  12$ 

night  without  he  either  told  me  beforehand  or  sent 
me  word.  He  was  always  so  gentlemanly  about 
saving  me  trouble  or  anxiety." 

"And  this  time  he  said  nothing  about  it?" 

"  Not  a  word.  He  went  out  day  before  yesterday 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that's  the  last 
we've  seen  or  heard  of  him.  He  didn't  carry  any 
grip,  or  have  his  trunk  sent  for ;  he  took  nothing  but 
a  parcel  wrapped  in  brown  paper." 

"  Well,  I  can't  understand  it.  It's  after  one 
o'clock  now  —  If  he  doesn't  soon  turn  up  —  What 
do  you  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  it.  I'm  afraid 
it's  a  case  of  mysterious  disappearance  —  that's 
what  I  think !  " 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

MR.    LARCHER    INQUIRES 

LARCHER  and  the  landlady  stood  gazing  at  each 
other  in  silence.  Larcher  spoke  first. 

"  He's  always  prompt  to  the  minute.  He  may  be 
coming  now." 

The  young  man  went  out  to  the  stoop  and  looked 
up  and  down  the  street.  But  no  familiar  figure 
was  in  sight.  He  turned  back  to  the  landlady. 

"  Perhaps  he  left  a  note  for  me  on  the  table," 
said  Larcher.  "  I  have  the  freedom  of  his  room, 
you  know." 

"  Go  up  and  see,  then.     I'll  go  with  you." 

The  landlady,  in  climbing  the  stairs,  used  a  haste 
very  creditable  in  a  person  of  her  amplitude.  Daven- 
port's room  appeared  the  same  as  ever.  None  of 
his  belongings  that  were  usually  visible  had  been 
packed  away  or  covered  up.  Books  and  manuscript 
lay  on  his  table.  But  there  was  nothing  addressed 
to  Larcher  or  anybody  else. 
124 


MR.   L ARCHER  INQUIRES  12$ 

"  It  certainly  looks  as  if  he'd  meant  to  come  back 
soon,"  remarked  the  landlady. 

"  It  certainly  does."  Larcher's  puzzled  eyes 
alighted  on  the  table  drawer.  He  gave  an  inward 
start,  reminded  of  the  money  in  Davenport's  pos- 
session at  their  last  meeting.  Davenport  had  surely 
taken  that  money  with  him  on  leaving  the  house 
the  next  morning.  Larcher  opened  his  lips,  but 
something  checked  him.  He  had  come  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  that  money  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  warrant 
his  ignoring  it.  Davenport  had  manifestly  wished 
to  keep  it  a  secret.  It  was  not  yet  time  to  tell  every- 
thing. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Larcher,  "  he  might  have  met 
with  an  accident." 

"I've  looked  through  the  newspapers  yesterday, 
and  to-day,  but  there's  nothing  about  him,  or  any- 
body like  him.  There  was  an  unknown  man  knocked 
down  by  a  street-car,  but  he  was  middle-aged,  and 
had  a  black  mustache." 

"  And  you're  positively  sure  Mr.  Davenport  would 
have  let  you  know  if  he'd  meant  to  stay  away  so 
long  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am.  Especially  that  morning  he'd 
have  spoke  of  it,  for  he  met  me  in  the  hall  and  paid 
me  the  next  four  weeks'  room  rent  in  advance." 


126       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  But  that  very  fact  looks  as  if  he  thought  he 
mightn't  see  you  for  some  time." 

"  No,  because  he's  often  done  that.  He'll  come 
and  say,  '  I've  got  a  little  money  ahead,  Mrs.  Haze, 
and  I  might  as  well  make  sure  of  a  roof  over  me 
for  another  month.'  He  knew  I  gener'ly  —  had  use 
for  money  whenever  it  happened  along.  He  was  a 
kind-hearted  —  I  mean  he  is  a  kind-hearted  man. 
Hear  me  speakin'  of  him  as  if  —  What's  that  ?  " 

It  was  a  man's  step  on  the  stairs.  With  a  sudden 
gladness,  Larcher  turned  to  the  door  of  the  room. 
The  two  waited,  with  smiles  ready.  The  step  came 
almost  to  the  threshold,  receded  along  the  passage, 
and  mounted  the  flight  above. 

"  It's  Mr.  Wigf all ;  he  rooms  higher  up,"  said 
Mrs.  Haze,  in  a  dejected  whisper. 

The  young  man's  heart  sank;  for  some  reason, 
at  this  disappointment,  the  hope  of  Davenport's 
return  fled,  the  possibility  of  his  disappearance  be- 
came certainty.  The  dying  footsteps  left  Larcher 
with  a  sense  of  chill  and  desertion;  and  he  could 
see  this  feeling  reflected  in  the  face  of  the  landlady. 

"  Do  you  think  the  matter  had  better  be  reported 
to  the  police?  "  said  she,  still  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"  I  don't  think  so  just  yet.  I  can't  say  whether 
they'd  send  out  a  general  alarm  on  my  report.  The 
request  must  come  from  a  near  relation,  I  believe. 


MR.    L ARCHER  INQUIRES  I2/ 

There  have  been  hoaxes  played,  you  know,  and 
people  frightened  without  sufficient  cause." 

"  I  never  heard  that  Mr.  Davenport  had  any 
relations.  I  guess  they'd  send  out  an  alarm  on  my 
statement.  A  hard-workin'  landlady  ain't  goin'  to 
make  a  fuss  and  get  her  house  into  the  papers 
just  for  fun." 

"  That's  true.  I'm  sure  they'd  take  your  report 
seriously.  But  we'd  better  wait  a  little  while  yet. 
I'll  stay  here  an  hour  or  two,  and  then,  if  he  hasn't 
appeared,  Til  begin  a  quiet  search  myself.  Use  your 
own  judgment,  though;  it's  for  you  to  see  the 
police  if  you  like.  Only  remember,  if  a  fuss  is 
made,  and  Mr.  Davenport  turns  up  all  right  with 
his  own  reasons  for  this,  how  we  shall  all  feel." 

"  He'd  be  annoyed,  I  guess.  Well,  I'll  wait  till 
you  say.  You're  the  only  friend  that  calls  here 
regular  to  see  him.  Of  course  I  know  how  a  good 
many  single  men  are,  —  that  lives  in  rooms.  They'll 
stay  away  for  days  at  a  time,  and  never  notify  any- 
body, and  nobody  thinks  anything  about  it.  But 
Mr.  Davenport,  as  I  told  you,  isn't  like  that.  I'll 
wait,  anyhow,  till  you  think  it's  time.  But  you'll 
keep  coming  here,  of  course?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  several  times  a  day.  He  might 
turn  up  at  any  moment.  I'll  give  him  an  hour  and 
a  half  to  keep  this  one  o'clock  engagement.  Then, 


128       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

if  he's  still  missing,  I'll  go  to  a  place  where  there's 
a  bare  chance  he  might  be.  I've  only  just  now 
thought  of  it." 

The  place  he  had  thought  of  was  the  room  of 
old  Mr.  Bud.  Davenport  had  spoken  of  going 
there  often  to  sketch.  Such  a  queer,  snug  old  place 
might  have  an  attraction  of  its  own  for  the  man. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  chance  —  a  bare  chance  — 
of  his  having,  upon  a  whim,  prolonged  a  stay  in 
that  place  or  its  neighborhood.  Or,  at  least,  Mr. 
Bud  might  have  later  news  of  him  than  Mrs.  Haze 
had. 

That  good  woman  went  back  to  her  work,  and 
Larcher  waited  alone  in  the  very  chair  where  Daven- 
port had  sat  at  their  last  meeting.  He  recalled 
Davenport's  odd  look  at  parting,  and  wondered  if 
it  had  meant  anything  in  connection  with  this  strange 
absence.  And  the  money?  The  doubt  and  the 
solitude  weighed  heavily  on  Larcher's  mind.  And 
what  should  he  say  to  the  girls  when  he  met  them 
at  tea? 

At  two  o'clock  his  impatience  got  the  better  of 
him.  He  went  down-stairs,  and  after  a  few  words 
with  Mrs.  Haze,  to  whom  he  promised  to  return 
about  four,  he  hastened  away.  He  was  no  sooner 
seated  in  an  elevated  car,  and  out  of  sight  of  the 
lodging-house,  than  he  began  to  imagine  his  friend 


MR.  L ARCHER  INQUIRES  1 29 

had  by  that  time  arrived  home.  This  feeling  re- 
mained with  him  all  the  way  down-town.  When 
he  left  the  train,  he  hurried  to  the  house  on  the 
water-front.  He  dashed  up  the  narrow  stairs,  and 
knocked  at  Mr.  Bud's  door.  No  answer  coming, 
he  knocked  louder.  It  was  so  silent  in  the  ill-lighted 
passage  where  he  stood,  that  he  fancied  he  could 
hear  the  thump  of  his  heart.  At  last  he  tried  the 
door;  it  was  locked. 

"  Evidently  nobody  at  home,"  said  Larcher,  and 
made  his  way  down-stairs  again.  He  went  into 
the  saloon,  where  he  found  the  same  barkeeper  he 
had  seen  on  his  first  visit  to  the  place. 

"  I  thought  I  might  find  a  friend  of  mine  here," 
he  said,  after  ordering  a  drink.  "  Perhaps  you  re- 
member —  we  were  here  together  five  or  six  weeks 
ago." 

"  I  remember  all  right  enough,"  said  the  bar- 
keeper. "  He  ain't  here  now." 

"  He's  been  here  lately,  though,  hasn't  he?  " 

"Depends  on  what  yuh  call  lately.  He  was  in 
here  the  other  day  with  old  man  Bud." 

"  What  day  was  that  ?  " 

"  Let's  see,  I  guess  it  was  —  naw,  it  was  Monday, 
because  it  was  the  day  before  Mr.  Bud  went  back 
to  his  chickens.  He  went  home  Toosdy,  Bud  did." 

It  was  on  Tuesday  night  that  Larcher  had  last 


130       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

beheld  Davenport.  "  And  so  you  haven't  seen  my 
friend  since  Monday?  "  he  asked,  insistently. 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

"  And  you're  sure  Mr.  Bud  hasn't  been  here  since 
Tuesday?  " 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

"  When  is  Mr.  Bud  coming  back,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  can  search  me,"  was  the  barkeeper's  subtle 
way  of  disavowing  all  knowledge  of  Mr.  Bud's 
future  intentions. 

Back  to  the  elevated  railway,  and  so  up-town, 
sped  Larcher.  The  feeling  that  his  friend  must 
be  now  at  home  continued  strong  within  him  until 
he  was  again  upon  the  steps  of  the  lodging-house. 
Then  it  weakened  somewhat.  It  died  altogether  at 
sight  of  the  questioning  eyes  of  the  negro.  The 
telegram  was  still  on  the  hat-stand. 

"  Any  news  ?  "  asked  the  landlady,  appearing  from 
the  rear. 

"  No.    I  was  hoping  you  might  have  some." 

After  saying  he  would  return  in  the  evening,  he 
rushed  off  to  keep  his  engagement  for  tea.  He  was 
late  in  arriving  at  the  flat. 

"  Here  he  is !  "  cried  Edna,  eagerly.  Her  eyes 
sparkled;  she  was  in  high  spirits.  Florence,  too, 
was  smiling.  The  girls  seemed  to  have  been  in 
great  merriment,  and  in  possession  of  some  cause 


MR.   L ARCHER  INQUIRES  13! 

of  felicitation  as  yet  unknown  to  Larcher.  He  stood 
hesitating. 

"  Well?  Well?  Well?  "  said  Edna.  "  How  did 
he  take  it?  Speak.  Tell  us  your  good  news,  and 
then  we'll  tell  you  ours."  Florence  only  watched 
his  face,  but  there  was  a  more  poignant  inquiry  in 
her  silence  than  in  her  friend's  noise. 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  began  Larcher,  embarrassed, 
"  I  can't  tell  you  any  good  news  just  yet.  Daven- 
port couldn't  keep  his  engagement  with  me  to-day, 
and  I  haven't  been  able  to  see  him." 

"  Not  able  to  see  him  ?  "  Edna  exclaimed,  hotly. 
"Why  didn't  you  go  and  find  him?  As  if  any- 
thing could  be  more  important!  That's  the  way 
with  men  —  always  afraid  of  intruding.  Such  a 
disappointment!  Oh,  what  an  unreliable,  helpless, 
futile  creature  you  are,  Tom !  " 

Stung  to  self-defence,  the  helpless,  futile  creature 
replied : 

"  I  wasn't  at  all  afraid  of  intruding.  I  did  go 
trying  to  find  him;  I've  spent  the  afternoon  doing 
that." 

"  A  woman  would  have  managed  to  find  out  where 
he  was,"  retorted  Edna. 

"His  landlady's  a  woman,"  rejoined  Larcher, 
doggedly,  "  and  she  hasn't  managed  to  find  out." 

"  Has  she  been  trying  to  ?  " 


132       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Well  —  no,"  stammered  Larcher,  repenting. 

"  Yes,  she  has ! "  said  Edna,  with  a  changed 
manner.  "  But  what  for?  Why  is  she  concerned? 
There's  something  behind  this,  Tom  —  I  can  tell 
by  your  looks.  Speak  out,  for  heaven's  sake! 
What's  wrong?  " 

A  glance  at  Florence  Kenby's  pale  face  did  not 
make  Larcher 's  task  easier  or  pleasanter. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  anything  seriously  wrong. 
Davenport  has  been  away  from  home  for  a  day 
or  two  without  saying  anything  about  it  to  his 
landlady,  as  he  usually  does  in  such  cases.  That's 
all." 

"  And  didn't  he  send  you  word  about  breaking 
the  engagement  with  you  ?  "  persisted  Edna. 

"  No.    I  suppose  it  slipped  his  mind." 

"  And  neither  you  nor  the  landlady  has  any  idea 
where  he  is?  " 

"  Not  when  I  saw  her  last  —  about  half  an  hour 
ago." 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Edna.  "That  is  a  mys- 
terious disappearance ! " 

The  landlady  had  used  the  same  expression.  Such 
was  Larcher's  mental  observation  in  the  moment's 
silence  that  followed,  —  a  silence  broken  by  a  low 
cry  from  Florence  Kenby. 

"  Oh,  if  anything  has  happened  to  him ! " 


MR.  L ARCHER  INQUIRES  133 

The  intensity  of  feeling  in  her  voice  and  look 
was  something  for  which  Larcher  had  not  been 
prepared.  It  struck  him  to  the  heart,  and  for  a  time 
he  was  without  speech  for  a  reassuring  word.  Edna, 
though  manifestly  awed  by  this  first  full  revelation 
of  her  friend's  concern  for  Davenport,  undertook 
promptly  the  office  of  banishing  the  alarm  she  had 
helped  to  raise. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  frightened,  dear.  There's  nothing 
serious,  after  all.  Men  often  go  where  business 
calls  them,  without  accounting  to  anybody.  He's 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  I'm  sure  it 
isn't  as  bad  as  Tom  says." 

"  As  I  say !  "  exclaimed  Larcher.  "  /  don't  say 
it's  bad  at  all.  It's  your  own  imagination,  Edna, 
—  your  sudden  and  sensational  imagination.  There's 
no  occasion  for  alarm,  Miss  Kenby.  Men  often, 
as  Edna  says  —  ' 

"  But  I  must  make  sure,"  interrupted  Florence. 
"  If  anything  is  wrong,  we're  losing  time.  He  must 
be  sought  for  —  the  police  must  be  notified." 

"  His  landlady  —  a  very  good  woman,  her  name 
is  Mrs.  Haze  —  spoke  of  that,  and  she's  the  proper 
one  to  do  it.  But  we  decided,  she  and  I,  to  wait 
awhile  longer.  You  see,  if  the  police  took  up 
the  matter,  and  it  got  noised  about,  and  Davenport 
reappeared  in  the  natural  order  of  things  —  as  of 


134       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

course  he  will  —  why,  how  foolish  we  should  all 
feel!" 

"  What  do  feelings  of  that  sort  matter,  when 
deeper  ones  are  concerned  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all ;  but  I'm  thinking  of  Daven- 
port's feelings.  You  know  how  he  would  hate  that 
sort  of  publicity." 

"  That  must  be  risked.  It's  a  small  thing  com- 
pared with  his  safety.  Oh,  if  you  knew  my  anx- 
iety !  " 

"  I  understand,  Miss  Kenby.  I'll  have  Mrs.  Haze 
go  to  police  headquarters  at  once.  I'll  go  with  her. 
And  then,  if  there's  still  no  news,  I'll  go  around 
to  the  —  to  other  places  where  people  inquire  in 
such  cases." 

"  And  you'll  let  me  know  immediately  —  as  soon 
as  you  find  out  anything  ?  " 

"Immediately.  I'll  telegraph.  Whereto?  Your 
Fifth  Avenue  address?  " 

"  Stay  here  to-night,  Florence,"  put  in  Edna. 
"  It  will  be  all  right,  now" 

"  Very  well.  Thank  you,  dear.  Then  you  can 
telegraph  here,  Mr.  Larcher." 

Her  instant  compliance  with  Edna's  suggestion 
puzzled  Larcher  a  little. 

"  She's  had  an  understanding  with  her  father," 
said  Edna,  having  noted  his  look.  "  She's  a  bit 


MR.   L  ARC  HER   INQUIRES  135 

more  her  own  mistress  to-day  than  she  was  yester- 
day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Florence,  "I  —  I  had  a  talk  with 
him  —  I  spoke  to  him  about  those  letters,  and  he 
finally  —  explained  the  matter.  We  settled  many 
things.  He  released  me  from  the  promise  we  were 
talking  about  yesterday." 

"  Good !    That's  excellent  news !  " 

"It's  the  news  we  had  ready  for  you  when  you 
brought  us  such  a  disappointment,"  bemoaned  Edna. 

"  It's  news  that  will  change  the  world  for  Daven- 
port," replied  Larcher.  "  I  must  find  him  now.  If 
he  only  knew  what  was  waiting  for  him,  he  wouldn't 
be  long  missing." 

"  It  would  be  too  cruel  if  any  harm  befell  him  " 
—  Florence's  voice  quivered  as  she  spoke  —  "  at 
this  time,  of  all  times.  It  would  be  the  crowning 
misfortune." 

"  I  don't  think  destiny  means  to  play  any  such 
vile  trick,  Miss  Kenby." 

"  I  don't  see  how  Heaven  could  allow  it,"  said 
Florence,  earnestly. 

"Well,  he's  simply  got  to  be  found.  So  I'm 
off  to  Mrs.  Haze.  I  can  go  tea-less  this  time,  thank 
you.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  on  the 


way? 


I'll  have  to  send  father  a  message  about  my 


136      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

staying  here.  If  you  would  stop  at  a  telegraph- 
office  —  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  broke  in  Edna.  "  There's 
a  call-box  down-stairs.  I'll  have  the  hall-boy  attend 
to  it.  You  mustn't  lose  a  minute,  Tom." 

Miss  Hill  sped  him  on  his  way  by  going  with  him 
to  the  elevator.  While  they  waited  for  that,  she 
asked,  cautiously : 

"  Is  there  anything  about  this  affair  that  you  were 
afraid  to  say  before  Florence  ?  " 

A  thought  of  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  came 
into  his  head;  but  again  he  felt  that  the  circum- 
stance of  the  money  was  his  friend's  secret,  and 
should  be  treated  by  him  —  for  the  present,  at  least 
—  as  non-existent. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  wouldn't  call  it  a  disap- 
pearance, if  I  were  you.  So  far,  it's  just  a  non- 
appearance.  We  shall  soon  be  laughing  at  our- 
selves, probably,  for  having  been  at  all  worked  up 
over  it.  —  She's  a  lovely  girl,  isn't  she  ?  I'm  half 
in  love  with  her  myself." 

"  She's  proof  against  your  charms,"  said  Edna, 
coolly. 

"  I  know  it.  What  a  lot  she  must  think  of  him ! 
The  possibility  of  harm  brings  out  her  feelings, 
I  suppose.  I  wonder  if  you'd  show  such  concern 
if  7  were  missing?  " 


MR.   L ARCHER  INQUIRES  137 

"  I  give  it  up.  Here's  the  elevator.  Good-by ! 
And  don't  keep  us  in  suspense.  You're  a  dear  boy ! 
Au  revoir! " 

With  the  hope  of  Edna's  approval  to  spur  him, 
besides  the  more  unselfish  motives  he  already  pos- 
sessed, Larcher  made  haste  upon  the  business.  This 
time  he  tried  to  conquer  the  expectation  of  finding 
Davenport  at  home;  yet  it  would  struggle  up  as  he 
approached  the  house  of  Mrs.  Haze.  The  same 
deadening  disappointment  met  him  as  before,  how- 
ever ;  and  was  mirrored  in  the  landlady's  face  when 
she  saw  by  his  that  he  brought  no  news. 

Mrs.  Haze  had  come  up  from  preparations  for 
dinner.  Hers  was  a  house  in  which,  the  choice 
being  "  optional,"  sundry  of  the  lodgers  took  their 
rooms  "  with  board."  Important  as  was  her  occu- 
pation, at  the  moment,  of  "  helping  out "  the  cook 
by  inducing  a  mass  of  stale  bread  to  fancy  itself 
disguised  as  a  pudding,  she  flung  that  occupation 
aside  at  once,  and  threw  on  her  things  to  accompany 
Larcher  to  police  headquarters.  There  she  told  all 
that  was  necessary,  to  an  official  at  a  desk,  —  a  big, 
comfortable  man  with  a  plenitude  of  neck  and  mus- 
tache. This  gentleman,  after  briefly  questioning  her 
and  Larcher,  and  taking  a  few  illegible  notes,  and 
setting  a  subordinate  to  looking  through  the  latest 
entries  in  a  large  record,  dismissed  the  subject  by 


138       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

saying  that  whatever  was  proper  to  be  done  would 
be  done.  He  had  a  blandly  incredulous  way  with 
him,  as  if  he  doubted,  not  only  that  Murray  Daven- 
port was  missing,  but  that  any  such  person  as  Mur- 
ray Davenport  existed  to  be  missing ;  as  if  he  merely 
indulged  his  visitors  in  their  delusion  out  of  polite- 
ness ;  as  if  in  any  case  the  matter  was  of  no  earthly 
consequence.  The  subordinate  reported  that  noth- 
ing in  the  record  for  the  past  two  days  showed  any 
such  man,  or  the  body  of  any  such  man,  to  have 
come  under  the  all-seeing  eye  of  the  police.  Never- 
theless, Mrs.  Haze  wanted  the  assurance  that  an 
investigation  should  be  started  forthwith.  The  big 
man  reminded  her  that  no  dead  body  had  been 
found,  and  repeated  that  all  proper  steps  would  be 
taken.  With  this  grain  of  comfort  as  her  sole 
satisfaction,  she  returned  to  her  bread  pudding,  for 
which  her  boarders  were  by  that  time  waiting. 

When  the  big  man  had  asked  the  question  whether 
Davenport  was  accustomed  to  carry  much  money 
about  with  him,  or  was  known  to  have  had  any 
considerable  sum  on  his  person  when  last  seen,  Lar- 
cher  had  silently  allowed  Mrs.  Haze  to  answer. 
"  Not  as  far  as  I  know ;  I  shouldn't  think  so,"  she 
had  said.  He  felt  that,  as  Davenport's  absence  was 
still  so  short,  and  might  soon  be  ended  and  accounted 
for,  the  situation  did  not  yet  warrant  the  disclo- 


MR.   L  ARC  HER  INQUIRES  139 

sure  of  a  fact  which  Davenport  himself  had  wished 
to  keep  private.  He  perceived  the  two  opposite  in- 
ferences which  might  be  made  from  that  fact,  and 
he  knew  that  the  police  would  probably  jump  at 
the  inference  unfavorable  to  his  friend.  For  the 
present,  he  would  guard  his  friend  from  that. 

Larcher's  work  on  the  case  had  just  begun.  For 
what  was  to  come  he  required  the  fortification  of 
dinner.  Mrs.  Haze  had  invited  him  to  dine  at  her 
board,  but  he  chose  to  lose  that  golden  opportunity, 
and  to  eat  at  one  of  those  clean  little  places  which 
for  cheapness  and  good  cooking  together  are  not  to 
be  matched,  or  half-matched,  in  any  other  city  in 
the  world.  He  soon  blessed  himself  for  having  done 
so;  he  had  scarcely  given  his  order  when  in  saun- 
tered Barry  Tompkins. 

"  Stop  right  here,"  cried  Larcher,  grasping  the 
spectacled  lawyer  and  pulling  him  into  a  seat. 
"  You  are  commandeered." 

"What  for?"  asked  Tompkins,  with  his  expan- 
sive smile. 

"  Dinner  first,  and  then  —  " 

"  All  right.  Do  you  give  me  carte  blcmche  with 
the  bill  of  fare?  May  I  roam  over  it  at  my  own 
sweet  will?  Is  there  no  limit?  " 

"  None,  except  a  time  limit.  I  want  you  to  steer 
me  around  the  hospitals,  station-houses,  morgue, 


140      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

et  cetera.  There's  a  man  missing.  You've  made 
those  rounds  before." 

"  Yes,  twice.  When  poor  Bill  Southford  jumped 
from  the  ferry-boat;  and  again  when  a  country 
cousin  of  mine  had  knockout  drops  administered  to 
him  in  a  Bowery  dance-hall.  It's  a  dismal  quest." 

"  I  know  it,  but  if  you  have  nothing  else  on  your 
hands  this  evening  — 

"  Oh,  I'll  pilot  you.  We  never  know  when  we're 
likely  to  have  search-parties  out  after  ourselves,  in 
this  abounding  metropolis.  Who's  the  latest  vic- 
tim of  the  strenuous  life?  " 

"  Murray  Davenport !  " 

"  What !   is  he  occurring  again  ?  " 

Larcher  imparted  what  it  was  needful  that  Tomp- 
kins  should  know.  The  two  made  an  expeditious 
dinner,  and  started  on  their  long  and  fatiguing 
inquiry.  It  was,  as  Tompkins  had  said,  a  dismal 
quest.  Those  who  have  ever  made  this  cheerless 
tour  will  not  desire  to  be  reminded  of  the  expe- 
rience, and  those  who  have  not  would  derive  more 
pain  than  pleasure  from  a  recital  of  it.  The  long 
distances  from  point  to  point,  the  rebuffs  from  petty 
officials,  the  difficulty  in  wringing  harmless  infor- 
mation from  fools  clad  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
the  mingled  hope  and  dread  of  coming  upon  the 
object  of  the  search  at  the  next  place,  the  recurring 


MR    LARCHER  INQUIRES  14! 

feeling  that  the  whole  fatiguing  pursuit  is  a  wild 
goose  chase  and  that  the  missing  person  is  now  safe 
at  home,  are  a  few  features  of  the  disheartening 
business.  The  labors  of  Larcher  and  Tompkins 
elicited  nothing ;  lightened  though  they  were  by  the 
impecunious  lawyer's  tact,  knowledge,  and  good 
humor,  they  left  the  young  men  dispirited  and  dead 
tired.  Larcher  had  nothing  to  telegraph  Miss 
Kenby.  He  thought  of  her  passing  a  sleepless  night, 
waiting  for  news,  the  dupe  and  victim  of  every  sound 
that  might  herald  a  messenger.  He  slept  ill  him- 
self, the  short  time  he  had  left  for  sleep.  In  the 
morning  he  made  a  swift  breakfast,  and  was  off 
to  Mrs.  Haze's.  Davenport's  room  was  still  un- 
tenanted,  his  bed  untouched;  the  telegram  still  lay 
unclaimed  in  the  hall  below. 

Florence  and  Edna  were  prepared,  by  the  absence 
of  news  during  the  night,  for  Larcher's  discouraged 
face  when  he  appeared  at  the  flat  in  the  morning. 
Miss  Kenby  seemed  already  to  have  fortified  her 
mind  for  an  indefinite  season  of  anxiety.  She  main- 
tained an  outward  calm,  but  it  was  the  forced  calm 
of  a  resolution  to  bear  torture  heroically.  She  had 
her  lapses,  her  moments  of  weakness  and  outcry, 
her  periods  of  despair,  during  the  ensuing  days,  — 
for  days  did  ensue,  and  nothing  was  seen  or  heard 
of  the  missing  one,  —  but  of  these  Larcher  was  not 


142       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

often  a  witness.  Edna  Hill  developed  new  resources 
as  an  encourager,  a  diverter,  and  an  unfailing  opti- 
mist in  regard  to  the  outcome.  The  girls  divided 
their  time  between  the  flat  and  the  Kenby  lodgings 
down  Fifth  Avenue.  Mr.  Kenby  was  subdued  and 
self-effacing  when  they  were  about.  He  wore  a 
somewhat  meek,  cowed  air  nowadays,  which  was 
not  without  a  touch  of  martyrdom.  He  volunteered 
none  but  the  most  casual  remarks  on  the  subject  of 
Davenport's  disappearance,  and  was  not  asked  even 
for  those.  His  diminution  spoke  volumes  for  the 
unexpected  force  of  personality  Florence  must  have 
shown  in  that  unrelated  interview  about  the  letters, 
in  which  she  had  got  back  her  promise. 

The  burden  of  action  during  those  ensuing  days 
fell  on  Larcher.  Besides  regular  semi-diurnal  calls 
on  the  young  ladies  and  at  Mrs.  Haze's  house,  and 
regular  consultations  of  police  records,  he  made 
visits  to  every  place  he  had  ever  known  Davenport 
to  frequent,  and  to  every  person  he  had  ever  known 
Davenport  to  be  acquainted  with.  Only,  for  a  time 
Mr.  Bagley  had  to  be  excepted,  he  not  having  yet 
returned  from  Chicago. 

It  appeared  that  the  big  man  at  police  headquarters 
had  really  caused  the  proper  thing  to  be  done. 
Detectives  came  to  Mrs.  Haze's  house  and  searched 
the  absent  man's  possessions,  but  found  no  clue; 


MR.   L  ARC  HER  INQUIRES  143 

and  most  of  the  newspapers  had  a  short  paragraph 
to  the  effect  that  Murray  Davenport,  "  a  song- 
writer," was  missing  from  his  lodging-house.  Lar- 
cher  hoped  that  this,  if  it  came  to  Davenport's  eye, 
though  it  might  annoy  him,  would  certainly  bring 
word  from  him.  But  the  man  remained  as  silent 
as  unseen.  Was  there,  indeed,  what  the  newspapers 
call  "  foul  play  "  ?  And  was  Larcher  called  upon 
yet  to  speak  of  the  twenty  thousand  dollars?  The 
knowledge  of  that  would  give  the  case  an  impor- 
tance in  the  eyes  ot  the  police,  but  would  it,  even 
if  the  worst  had  happened,  do  any  good  to  Daven- 
port ?  Larcher  thought  not ;  and  held  his  tongue. 

One  afternoon,  in  the  week  following  the  disap- 
pearance, —  or,  as  Larcher  preferred  to  call  it,  non- 
appearance,  —  that  gentleman,  having  just  sat  down 
in  a  north-bound  Sixth  Avenue  car,  glanced  over  the 
first  page  of  an  evening  paper  —  one  of  the  yellow 
brand  —  which  he  had  bought  a  minute  before.  All 
at  once  he  was  struck  in  the  face,  metaphorically 
speaking,  by  a  particular  set  of  headlines.  He  held 
his  breath,  and  read  the  following  opening  para- 
graph : 

"  The  return  of  George  A.  Bagley  from  Chicago 
last  night  puts  a  new  phase  on  the  disappearance 
of  Murray  Davenport,  the  song-writer,  who  has  not 
been  seen  since  Wednesday  of  last  week  at  his  lodg- 


144      THE   MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

ing-house,  East  th  Street.     Mr.  Bagley 

would  like  to  know  what  became  of  a  large  amount 
of  cash  which  he  left  with  the  missing  man  for  cer- 
tain purposes  the  previous  night  on  leaving  sud- 
denly for  Chicago.  He  says  that  when  he  called 
this  morning  on  brokers,  bankers,  and  others  to 
whom  the  money  should  have  been  handed  over, 
he  found  that  not  a  cent  of  it  had  been  disposed 
of  according  to  orders.  Davenport  had  for  some 
years  frequently  acted  as  a  secretary  or  agent  for 
Bagley,  and  had  handled  many  thousands  of  dollars 
for  the  latter  in  such  a  manner  as  to  gain  the  highest 
confidence." 

There  was  a  half -column  of  details,  which  Lar- 
cher  read  several  times  over  on  the  way  up-town. 
When  he  entered  Edna's  drawing-room  the  two 
girls  were  sitting  before  the  fire.  At  the  first  sight 
of  his  face,  Edna  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  Florence's 
lips  parted. 

"  What  is  it?  "  cried  Edna.  "  You've  got  news! 
What  is  it?" 

"  No.     Not  any  news  of  his  whereabouts." 
"What  of,  then?    It's  in  that  paper." 
She  seized  the  yellow   journal,   and  threw  her 
glance  from  headline  to  headline.     She  found  the 
story,  and  read  it  through,  aloud,  at  a  rate  of  utter- 


MR.  LARCHER  INQUIRES  145 

ance  that  would  have  staggered  the  swiftest  short- 
hand writer. 

"  Well!  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  she  said, 
and  stopped  to  take  breath. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  true?  "  asked  Florence. 

"  There  is  some  reason  to  believe  it  is! "  replied 
Larcher,  awkwardly. 

Florence  rose,  in  great  excitement.  "  Then  this 
affair  must  be  cleared  up!  "  she  cried.  "  For  don't 
you  see?  He  may  have  been  robbed  —  waylaid  for 
the  money  —  made  away  with!  God  knows  what 
else  can  have  happened !  The  newspaper  hints  that 
he  ran  away  with  the  money.  I'll  never  believe  that. 
It  must  be  cleared  up —  I  tell  you  it  must! " 

Edna  tried  to  soothe  the  agitated  girl,  and  looked 
sorrowfully  at  Larcher,  who  could  only  deplore  in 
silence  his  inability  to  solve  the  mystery. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MR.    BUD'S   DARK    HALLWAY 

A  MONTH  passed,  and  it  was  not  cleared  up.  Lar- 
cher  became  hopeless  of  ever  having  sight  or  word 
of  Murray  Davenport  again.  For  himself,  he 
missed  the  man;  for  the  man,  assuming  a  tragic 
fate  behind  the  mystery,  he  had  pity ;  but  his  sorrow 
was  keenest  for  Miss  Kenby.  No  description,  noth- 
ing but  experience,  can  inform  the  reader  what  was 
her  torment  of  mind:  to  be  so  impatient  of  sus- 
pense as  to  cry  out  as  she  had  done,  and  yet  perforce 
to  wait  hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  week  after 
week,  in  the  same  unrelieved  anxiety,  —  this  pro- 
longed torture  is  not  to  be  told  in  words.  She 
schooled  herself  against  further  outcries,  but  the 
evidence  of  her  suffering  was  no  less  in  her  settled 
look  of  baffled  expectancy,  her  fits  of  mute  abstrac- 
tion, the  start  of  her  eyes  at  any  sound  of  bell  or 
knock.  She  clutched  back  hope  as  it  was  slipping 
away,  and  would  not  surrender  uncertainty  for  its 
less  harrowing  follower,  despair.  She  had  resumed, 
146 


MR.   BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  147 

as  the  probability  of  immediate  news  decreased,  her 
former  way  of  existence,  living  with  her  father  at 
the  house  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue,  where  Miss  Hill 
saw  her  every  day  except  when  she  went  to  see 
Miss  Hill,  who  denied  herself  the  Horse  Show,  the 
football  games,  and  the  opera  for  the  sake  of  her 
friend.  Larcher  called  on  the  Kenbys  twice  or 
thrice  a  week,  sometimes  with  Edna,  sometimes 
alone. 

There  was  one  possibility  which  Larcher  never 
mentioned  to  Miss  Kenby  in  discussing  the  case.  He 
feared  it  might  fit  too  well  her  own  secret  thought. 
That  was  the  possibility  of  suicide.  What  could 
be  more  consistent  with  Davenport's  outspoken  dis- 
taste for  life,  as  he  found  it,  or  with  his  listless 
endurance  of  it,  than  a  voluntary  departure  from 
it?  He  had  never  talked  suicide,  but  this,  in  his 
state  of  mind,  was  rather  an  argument  in  favor 
of  his  having  acted  it.  No  threatened  men  live 
longer,  as  a  class,  than  those  who  have  themselves 
as  threateners.  It  was  true,  Larcher  had  seen  in 
Davenport's  copy  of  Keats,  this  passage  marked: 

"...  for  many  a  time 
I  have  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death." 

But  an  unhappy  man  might  endorse  that  saying 
without  a  thought  of  possible  self-destruction.  So, 


148       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

for  Davenport's  very  silence  on  that  way  of  escape 
from  his  tasteless  life,  Larcher  thought  he  might 
have  taken  it. 

He  confided  this  thought  to  no  less  a  person  than 
Bagley,  some  weeks  after  the  return  of  that  cap- 
italist from  Chicago.  Two  or  three  times,  meeting 
by  chance,  they  had  briefly  discussed  the  disap- 
pearance, each  being  more  than  willing  to  obtain 
whatever  light  the  other  might  be  able  to  throw 
on  the  case.  Finally  Bagley,  to  whom  Larcher  had 
given  his  address,  had  sent  for  him  to  call  at  the 
former's  rooms  on  a  certain  evening.  These  rooms 
proved  to  be  a  luxurious  set  of  bachelor  apartments 
in  one  of  the  new  tall  buildings  just  off  Broadway. 
Hard  wood,  stamped  leather,  costly  rugs,  carved 
furniture,  the  richest  upholstery,  the  art  of  the  old 
world  and  the  inventiveness  of  the  new,  had  made 
this  a  handsome  abode  at  any  time,  and  a  par- 
ticularly inviting  one  on  a  cold  December  night. 
Larcher,  therefore,  was  not  sorry  he  had  responded 
to  the  summons.  He  found  Bagley  sharing  cigars 
and  brandy  with  another  man,  a  squat,  burly,  middle- 
aged  stranger,  with  a  dyed  mustache  and  the  dress 
and  general  appearance  of  a  retired  hotel-porter, 
cheap  restaurant  proprietor,  theatre  doorkeeper,  or 
some  such  useful  but  not  interesting  member  of 
society.  This  person,  for  a  time,  fulfilled  the  promise 


MR.   BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  149 

of  his  looks,  of  being  uninteresting.  On  being  in- 
troduced to  Larcher  as  Mr.  Lafferty,  he  uttered  a 
quick  "  Howdy,"  with  a  jerk  of  the  head,  and  lapsed 
into  a  mute  regard  of  tobacco  smoke  and  brandy 
bottle,  which  he  maintained  while  Bagley  and  Lar- 
cher went  more  fully  into  the  Davenport  case  than 
they  had  before  gone  together.  Larcher  felt  that 
he  was  being  sounded,  but  he  saw  no  reason  to 
withhold  anything  except  what  related  to  Miss 
Kenby.  It  was  now  that  he  mentioned  possible 
suicide. 

"Suicide?  Not  much,"  said  Bagley.  "A  man 
would  be  a  chump  to  turn  on  the  gas  with  all  that 
money  about  him.  No,  sir ;  it  wasn't  suicide.  We 
know  that  much." 

"  You  know  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Larcher. 

"  Yes,  we  know  it.  A  man  don't  make  the  prep- 
arations he  did,  when  he's  got  suicide  on  his  mind. 
I  guess  we  might  as  well  put  Mr.  Larcher  on,  Laf- 
ferty, do  you  think?" 

"Jess'  you  say,"  replied  Mr.  Lafferty,  briefly. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Bagley  to  Larcher,  "  I  sent 
for  you,  so's  I  could  pump  you  in  front  of  Lafferty 
here.  I'm  satisfied  you've  told  all  you  know,  and 
though  that's  absolutely  nothing  at  all  —  ain't  that 
so,  Lafferty?" 

«  Yep,  —  nothin'  'tall." 


I5O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Though  it's  nothing  at  all,  a  fair  exchange  is 
no  robbery,  and  I'm  willing  for  you  to  know  as 
much  as  I  do.  The  knowledge  won't  do  you  any 
good  —  it  hasn't  done  me  any  good  —  but  it'll  give 
you  an  insight  into  your  friend  Davenport.  Then 
you  and  his  other  friends,  if  he's  got  any,  won't 
roast  me  because  I  claim  that  he  flew  the  coop  and 
not  that  somebody  did  him  for  the  money.  See?  " 

"  Not  exactly." 

"All  right;  then  we'll  open  your  eyes.  I  guess 
you  don't  happen  to  know  who  Mr.  Lafferty  here 
is,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Well,  he's  a  central  office  detective."  (Mr. 
Lafferty  bore  Larcher's  look  of  increased  interest 
with  becoming  modesty.)  "  He's  been  on  this  case 
ever  since  I  came  back  from  Chicago,  and  by  a 
piece  of  dumb  luck,  he  got  next  to  Davenport's  trail 
for  part  of  the  day  he  was  last  seen.  He'll  tell 
you  how  far  he  traced  him.  It's  up  to  you  now, 
Lafferty.  Speak  out." 

"  Mr.  Lafferty,  pretending  to  take  as  a  good  joke 
the  attribution  of  his  discoveries  to  "  dumb  luck," 
promptly  discoursed  in  a  somewhat  thick  but  rapid 
voice. 

"  On  the  Wednesday  morning  he  was  las'  seen, 
he  left  the  house  about  nine  o'clock,  with  a  package 


MR.  BUD 'S  DARK  HALL  WAY  151 

wrapt  in  brown  paper.  I  lose  sight  of'm  f'r  a  couple 
'f  hours,  but  I  pick'm  up  again  a  little  before  twelve. 
He's  still  got  the  same  package.  He  goes  into  a 
certain  department  store,  and  buys  a  suit  o'  clothes 
in  the  clothin'  department ;  shirts,  socks,  an'  under- 
clothes in  the  gents'  furnishin'  department;  a  pair 
o'  shoes  in  the  shoe  department,  an'  s'mother  things 
in  other  departments.  These  he  has  all  done  up  in 
wrappin'-paper,  pays  fur  'em,  and  leaves  'em  to 
be  called  fur  later.  He  then  goes  an'  has  his  lunch." 

"  Where  does  he  have  his  lunch  ?  "  asked  Bagley. 

"  Never  mind  where  he  has  his  lunch,"  said  Mr. 
Lafferty,  annoyed.  "  That's  got  no  bearin'  on  the 
case.  After  he  has  his  lunch,  he  goes  to  a  certain 
big  grocer's  and  provision  dealer's,  an'  buys  a  lot 
o'  canned  meats  and  various  provisions,  —  I  can 
give  you  a  complete  list  if  you  want  it." 

This  last  offer,  accompanied  by  a  movement  of 
a  hand  to  an  inner  pocket,  was  addressed  to  Bagley, 
who  declined  with  the  words,  "That's  all  right. 
I've  seen  it  before." 

"  He  has  these  things  all  done  up  in  heavy  paper, 
so's  to  make  a  dozen'r  so  big  packages.  Then  he 
pays  fur  'em,  an'  leaves  'em  to  be  called  fur.  It's 
late  in  the  afternoon  by  this  time,  and  comin'  on 
dark.  Understand,  he's  still  got  the  'riginal  brown 
paper  package  with  him.  The  next  thing  he  does 


152       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

is,  he  hires  a  cab,  and  has  himself  druv  around 
to  the  department  store  he  was  at  before.  He  gets 
the  things  he  bought  there,  an'  puts  'em  on  the 
cab,  an'  has  himself  druv  on  to  the  grocer's  an' 
provision  dealer's,  an'  gets  the  packages  he  bought 
there,  an'  has  them  put  in  the  cab.  The  cab's  so 
full  o'  his  parcels  now,  he's  only  got  just  room  fur 
himself  on  the  back  seat.  An'  then  he  has  the  hack- 
man  drive  to  a  place  away  down-town." 

Mr.  Lafferty  paused  for  a  moment  to  wet  his 
throat  with  brandy  and  water.  Larcher,  who  had 
admired  the  professional  mysteriousness  shown  in 
withholding  the  names  of  the  stores  for  the  mere 
sake  of  reserving  something  to  secrecy,  was  now 
wondering  how  the  detective  knew  that  the  man 
he  had  traced  was  Murray  Davenport.  He  gave 
voice  to  his  wonder. 

"  By  the  description,  of  course,"  replied  Mr.  Laf- 
ferty, with  disgust  at  Larcher's  inferiority  of  in- 
telligence. "  D'yuh  s'pose  I'd  foller  a  man's  trail 
as  fur  as  that,  if  everything  didn't  tally  —  face,  eyes, 
nose,  height,  build,  clo'es,  hat,  brown  paper  parcel, 
everything?  " 

"  Then  it's  simply  marvellous,"  said  Larcher,  with 
genuine  astonishment,  "  how  you  managed  to  get 
on  his  track,  and  to  follow  it  from  place  to  place." 


MR.   B  UD  'S  DARK  HALL  WAY  153 

"  Oh,  it's  my  business  to  know-  how  to  do  them 
things,"  replied  Mr.  Lafferty,  deprecatingly. 

"  Your  business !  "  said  Bagley.  "  Dumb  luck,  I 
tell  you.  Can't  you  see  how  it  was?"  He  had 
turned  to  Larcher.  "  The  cabman  read  of  Daven- 
port's disappearance,  and  putting  together  the  day, 
and  the  description  in  the  papers,  and  the  queer  load 
of  parcels,  goes  and  tells  the  police.  Lafferty  is  put 
on  the  case,  pumps  the  cabman  dry,  then  goes  to 
the  stores  where  the  cab  stopped  to  collect  the  goods, 
and  finds  out  the  rest.  Only,  when  he  comes  to  tell 
the  story,  he  tells  the  facts  not  in  their  order  as  he 
found  them  out,  but  in  their  order  as  they  occurred." 

"  You  know  all  about  it,  Mr.  Bagley,"  said  Laf- 
ferty, taking  refuge  in  jocular  irony.  "  You'd  ought 
'a'  worked  up  the  case  yourself." 

"  You  left  Davenport  being  driven  down-town," 
Larcher  reminded  the  detective. 

"  Yes,  an'  that  about  lets  me  out.  The  cabman 
druv  'im  to  somewhere  on  South  Street,  by  the 
wharves.  It  was  dark  by  that  time,  and  the  driver 
didn't  notice  the  exact  spot  —  he  just  druv  along 
the  street  till  the  man  told  him  to  stop,  that  was  his 
orders,  —  an'  then  the  man  got  out,  took  out  his 
parcels,  an'  carried  them  across  the  sidewalk  into 
a  dark  hallway.  Then  he  paid  the  cabman,  an'  the 
cabman  druv  off.  The  last  the  cabman  seen  of  'im, 


154      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

he  was  goin'  into  the  hallway  where  his  goods  were, 
an'  that's  the  last  any  one  seen  of  'im  in  New  York, 
as  fur  as  known.  Prob'ly  you've  got  enough  imag- 
ination to  give  a  guess  what  became  of  him  after 
that." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Larcher. 

"  Jes'  think  it  over.  You  can  put  two  and  two 
together,  can't  you?  A  new  outfit  o'  clo'es,  first 
of  all.  Then  a  stock  o'  provisions.  To  make  it 
easier,  I'll  tell  yuh  this  much :  they  was  the  kind  o' 
provisions  people  take  on  yachts,  an'  he  even  ad- 
mitted to  the  salesman  they  was  for  that  purpose. 
And  then  South  Street  —  the  wharves ;  does  that 
mean  ships  ?  Does  the  whole  business  mean  a  voy- 
age? But  a  man  don't  have  to  stock  up  extry  food 
if  he's  goin'  by  any  regular  steamer  line,  does  he? 
What  fur,  then?  And  what  kind  o'  ships  lays  off 
South  Street?  Sailin'  ships;  them  that  goes  to 
South  America,  an'  Asia,  and  the  South  Seas,  and 
God  knows  where  all.  Now  do  you  think  you  can 
guess  ?  " 

"  But  why  would  he  put  his  things  in  a  hallway  ?  " 
queried  Larcher. 

"  To  wait  fur  the  boat  that  was  to  take  'em  out 
to  the  vessel  late  at  night.  Why  did  he  wait  fur 
dark  to  be  druv  down  there?  You  bet,  he  was 
makin'  his  flittin'  as  silent  as  possible.  He'd  prob'ly 


MR.  BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  155 

squared  it  with  a  skipper  to  take  'im  aboard  on 
the  dead  quiet.  That's  why  there  ain't  much  use 
our  knowin'  what  vessels  sailed  about  that  time. 
I  do  know,  but  much  good  we'll  get  out  o'  that. 
What  port  he  gets  off  at,  who'll  ever  tell?  It'll 
be  sure  to  be  in  a  country  where  we  ain't  got  no 
extradition  treaty.  And  when  this  particular  cap- 
tain shows  up  again  at  this  port,  innocent  enough 
he'll  be;  he  never  took  no  passenger  aboard  in  the 
night,  an'  put  'im  off  somewheres  below  the  'quator. 
I  guess  Mr.  Bagley  can  about  consider  his  twenty 
thousand  to  the  bad,  unless  his  young  friend  takes 
a  notion  to  return  to  his  native  land  before  he's 
got  it  all  spent." 

"And  that's  your  belief?"  said  Larcher  to  Bag- 
ley,  "  —  that  he  went  to  some  other  country  with 
the  money?  " 

"  Ab-sconded,"  replied  the  ready-money  man. 
"  Yes ;  there's  nothing  else  to  believe.  At  first  I 
thought  you  might  have  some  notion  where  he 
was;  that's  what  made  me  send  for  you.  But  I 
see  he  left  you  out  of  his  confidence.  So  I  thought 
you  might  as  well  know  his  real  character.  Laf- 
ferty's  going  to  give  the  result  of  his  investigation 
to  the  newspaper  men,  anyhow.  The  only  satis- 
faction I  can  get  is  to  show  the  fellow  up." 

When  Larcher  left  the  presence  of  Bagley,  he 


156       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

carried  away  no  definite  conclusion  except  that  Bag- 
ley  was  an  even  more  detestable  animal  than  he  had 
before  supposed.  If  the  man  whom  Lafferty  had 
traced  was  really  Davenport,  then  indeed  the  theory 
of  suicide  was  shaken.  There  remained  the  possi- 
bility of  murder  or  flight.  The  purchases  indeed 
seemed  to  indicate  flight,  especially  when  viewed  in 
association  with  South  Street.  South  Street  ?  Why, 
that  was  Mr.  Bud's  street.  And  a  hallway?  Mr. 
Bud's  room  was  approached  through  a  hallway. 
Mr.  Bud  had  left  town  the  day  before  that  Wednes- 
day; but  if  Davenport  had  made  frequent  visits 
there  for  sketching,  was  it  not  certain  that  he  had 
had  access  to  the  room  in  Mr.  Bud's  absence  ?  Lar- 
cher  had  knocked  at  that  room  two  days  after  the 
Wednesday,  and  had  got  no  answer,  but  this  was  no 
evidence  that  Davenport  might  not  have  made  some 
use  of  the  room  in  the  meanwhile.  If  he  had  made 
use  of  it,  he  might  have  left  some  trace,  some  pos- 
sible clew  to  his  subsequent  movements.  Larcher, 
thinking  thus  on  his  way  from  Bagley's  apartment- 
house,  resolved  to  pay  another  visit  to  Mr.  Bud's 
quarters  before  saying  anything  about  Bagley's 
theory  to  any  one. 

He  was  busy  the  next  day  until  the  afternoon 
was  well  advanced.  As  soon  as  he  got  free,  he  took 
himself  to  South  Street;  ascended  the  dark  stairs 


MR.   BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  157 

from  the  hallway,  and  knocked  loudly  at  Mr.  Bud's 
door.  There  was  no  more  answer  than  there  had 
been  six  weeks  before;  nothing  to  do  but  repair  to 
the  saloon  below.  The  same  bartender  was  on  duty. 

"  Is  Mr.  Bud  in  town,  do  you  know?  "  inquired 
Larcher,  having  observed  the  usual  preliminaries 
to  interrogation. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"  When  was  he  here  last  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  long  time.  'Most  two  months,  I 
guess." 

"  But  I  was  here  five  or  six  weeks  ago,  and  he'd 
been  gone  only  three  days  then." 

"  Then  you  know  more  about  it  than  I  do ;  so 
don't  ast  me." 

"  He  hasn't  been  here  since  I  was?  " 

"  He  hasn't." 

"  And  my  friend  who  was  here  with  me  the  first 
time  —  has  he  been  here  since?  " 

"  Not  while  I've  been." 

"  When  is  Mr.  Bud  likely  to  be  here  again?  " 

"  Give  it  up.     I  ain't  his  private  secretary." 

Just  as  Larcher  was  turning  away,  the  street 
door  opened,  and  in  walked  a  man  with  a  large 
hand-bag,  who  proved  to  be  none  other  than  Mr. 
Bud  himself. 

"  I  was  just  looking  for  you,"  cried  Larcher. 


I5&       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  That  so  ?  "  replied  Mr.  Bud,  cheerily,  grasping 
Larcher's  hand.  "  I  just  got  into  town.  It's  blame 
cold  out."  He  set  his  hand-bag  on  the  bar,  saying 
to  the  bartender,  "  Keep  my  gripsack  back  there 
awhile,  Mick,  will  yuh?  I  got  to  git  somethin' 
into  me  'fore  I  go  up-stairs.  Gimme  a  plate  o'  soup 
on  that  table,  an'  the  whisky  bottle.  Will  you 
join  me,  sir?  Two  plates  o'  soup,  an'  two  glasses 
with  the  whisky  bottle.  Set  down,  set  down,  sir. 
Make  yourself  at  home." 

Larcher  obeyed,  and  as  soon  as  the  old  man's 
overcoat  was  off,  and  the  old  man  ready  for  con- 
versation, plunged  into  his  subject. 

"  Do  you  know  what's  become  of  my  friend 
Davenport  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  No.  Hope  he's  well  and  all  right.  What  makes 
you  ask  like  that?  " 

"  Haven't  you  read  of  his  disappearance?  " 

"Disappearance?  The  devil!  Not  a  word!  I 
been  too  busy  to  read  the  papers.  When  was  it  ?  " 

"  Several  weeks  ago."  Larcher  recited  the  main 
facts,  and  finished  thus :  "  So  if  there  isn't  a 
mistake,  he  was  last  seen  going  into  your  hallway. 
Did  he  have  a  key  to  your  room?  " 

"  Yes,  so's  he  could  draw  pictures  while  I  was 
away.  My  hallway  ?  Let's  go  and  see." 

In  some  excitement,  without  waiting  for  particu- 


MR.  B UD 'S  DARK  HALLWAY  159 

lars,  the  farmer  rose  and  led  the  way  out.  It  was 
already  quite  dark. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  expect  to  find  him  in  your  room," 
said  Larcher,  at  his  heels.  "  But  he  may  have  left 
some  trace  there." 

Mr.  Bud  turned  into  the  hallway,  of  which  the 
door  was  never  locked  till  late  at  night.  The  hall- 
way was  not  lighted,  save  as  far  as  the  rays  of  a 
street-lamp  went  across  the  threshold.  Plunging 
into  the  darkness  with  haste,  closely  followed  by 
Larcher,  the  old  man  suddenly  brushed  against 
some  one  coming  from  the  stairs. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Bud.  "  I  didn't  see  any- 
body. It's  all-fired  dark  in  here." 

"  It  is  dark,"  replied  the  stranger,  and  passed  out 
to  the  street.  Larcher,  at  the  words  of  the  other 
two,  had  stepped  back  into  a  corner  to  make  way. 
Mr.  Bud  turned  to  look  at  the  stranger;  and  the 
stranger,  just  outside  the  doorway,  turned  to  look 
at  Mr.  Bud.  Then  both  went  their  different  direc- 
tions, Mr.  Bud's  direction  being  up  the  stairs. 

"  Must  be  a  new  lodger,"  said  Mr.  Bud.  "  He 
was  comin'  from  these  stairs  when  I  run  agin  'im. 
I  never  seen  'im  before." 

"  You  can't  truly  say  you  saw  him  even  then," 
replied  Larcher,  guiding  himself  by  the  stair  wall. 

"  Oh,  he  turned  around  outside,  an'  I  got  the 


160       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

street-light  on  him.  A  good-lookin'  young  chap, 
to  be  roomin'  on  these  premises." 

"  I  didn't  see  his  face,"  replied  Larcher,  stum- 
bling. 

"  Look  out  fur  yur  feet.    Here  we  are  at  the  top." 

Mr.  Bud  groped  to  his  door,  and  fumblingly  un- 
locked it.  Once  inside  his  room,  he  struck  a  match, 
and  lighted  one  of  the  two  gas-burners. 

"  Everything  same  as  ever,"  said  Mr.  Bud, 
looking  around  from  the  centre  of  the  room. 
"  Books,  table,  chairs,  stove,  bed  made  up  same's 
I  left  it  —  " 

"  Hello,  what's  this?  "  exclaimed  Larcher,  having 
backed  against  a  hollow  metallic  object  on  the  floor 
and  knocked  his  head  against  a  ropey,  rubbery 
something  in  the  air. 

"  That's  a  gas-heater  —  Mr.  Davenport  made  me 
a  present  of  it.  It's  convenienter  than  the  old  stove. 
He  wanted  to  pay  me  fur  the  gas  it  burned  when  he 
was  here  sketchin',  but  I  wouldn't  stand  fur  that." 

The  ropey,  rubbery  something  was  the  tube  con- 
necting the  heater  with  the  gas-fixture. 

"  I  move  we  light  'er  up,  and  make  the  place 
comfortable;  then  we  can  talk  this  matter  over," 
continued  Mr.  Bud.  "  Shet  the  door,  an'  siddown." 

Seated  in  the  waves  of  warmth  from  the  gas- 
stove,  the  two  went  into  the  details  of  the  case, 


MR.  BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  l6l 

Larcher  not  withholding  the  theory  of  Mr.  Lafferty, 
and  even  touching  briefly  on  Davenport's  misunder- 
standing as  to  Florence  Kenby. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bud,  thoughtfully,  "  if  he  reely 
went  into  a  hallway  in  these  parts,  it  would  prob'ly 
be  the  hallway  he  was  acquainted  with.  But  he 
wouldn't  stay  in  the  hallway.  He'd  prob'ly  come 
to  this  room.  An'  he'd  no  doubt  bring  his  parcels 
here.  But  one  thing's  certain:  if  he  did  that,  he 
took  'em  all  away  again.  He  might  'a'  left  some- 
thin'  in  the  closet,  or  under  the  bed,  or  somewheres." 

A  search  was  made  of  the  places  named,  as  well 
as  of  drawers  and  wash-stand,  but  Mr.  Bud  found 
no  additions  to  his  property.  He  even  looked  in 
the  coal-box,  —  and  stooped  and  fished  something 
out,  which  he  held  up  to  the  light.  "  Hello,  I  don't 
reco'nize  this !  " 

Larcher  uttered  an  exclamation.  "  He  has  been 
here!  That's  the  note-book  cover  the  money  was 
in.  He  had  it  the  night  before  he  was  last  seen. 
I  could  swear  to  it." 

"  It's  all  dirty  with  coal-dust,"  cautioned  Mr. 
Bud,  as  Larcher  seized  it  for  closer  examination. 

"  It  proves  he's  been  here,  at  least.  We've  got 
him  traced  further  than  the  detective,  anyhow." 

"  But  not  so  very  fur,  at  that.  What  if  he  was 
here?  Mind,  I  ain't  a-sayin'  one  thing  ur  another, 


1 62       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

—  but  if  he  was  contemplatin'  a  voyage,  an'  had 
fixed  to  be  took  aboard  late  at  night,  what  better 
place  to  wait  fur  the  ship's  boat  than  just  this 
here?" 

"  But  the  money  must  have  been  handled  here  — 
taken  out  of  this  cover,  and  the  cover  thrown  away. 
Suppose  somebody  had  seen  him  display  that  money 
during  the  day;  had  shadowed  him  here,  followed 
him  to  this  room,  taken  him  by  surprise  ?  *' 

"  No  signs  of  a  struggle,  fur  as  I  c'n  see." 

"  But  a  single  blow  with  a  black-jack,  from  be- 
hind, would  do  the  business." 

"  An'  what  about  the  —  remains  ?  " 

"  The  river  is  just  across  the  street.  This  would 
occur  at  night,  remember." 

Mr.  Bud  shook  his  head.  "  An'  the  load  o'  par- 
cels —  what  'ud  become  o'  them  ?  " 

"  The  criminal  might  convey  them  away,  too,  at 
his  leisure  during  the  night.  They  would  be  worth 
something." 

Evidently  to  test  the  resourcefulness  of  the 
young  man's  imagination,  Mr.  Bud  continued, 
"  But  why  should  the  criminal  go  to  the  trouble 
o'  removin'  the  body  from  here?  " 

"  To  delay  its  discovery,  or  create  an  impression 
of  suicide  if  it  were  found,"  ventured  Larcher, 
rather  lamely.  "  The  criminal  would  naturally 


MR.   BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  163 

suppose  that  a  chambermaid  visited  the  room  every 
day." 

"  The  criminal  'ud  risk  less  by  leavin'  the  body 
right  here;  an'  it  don't  stand  to  reason  that,  after 
makin'  such  a  haul  o'  money,  he'd  take  any  chances 
f'r  the  sake  o'  the  parcels.  No;  your  the'ry's  got 
as  much  agin'  it,  as  the  detective's  has  fur  it.  It's 
built  on  nothin'  but  random  guesswork.  As  fur 
me,  I'd  rather  the  young  man  did  get  away  with 
the  money,  —  you  say  the  other  fellow'd  done  him 
out  o'  that  much,  anyhow.  I'd  rather  that  than 
somebody  else  got  away  with  him." 

"  So  would  I  —  in  the  circumstances,"  confessed 
Larcher. 

Mr.  Bud  proposed  that  they  should  go  down  to 
the  saloon  and  "  tackle  the  soup."  Larcher  could 
offer  no  reason  for  remaining  where  they  were. 
As  they  rose  to  go,  the  young  man  looked  at  his 
ringers,  soiled  from  the  coal-dust  on  the  covers. 

"  There's  a  bath-room  on  this  floor ;  we  c'n  wash 
our  hands  there,"  said  Mr.  Bud,  and,  after  closing 
up  his  own  apartment,  led  the  way,  by  the  light 
of  matches,  to  a  small  cubicle  at  the  rear  of  the 
passage,  wherein  were  an  ancient  wood-encased  bath- 
tub, two  reluctant  water-taps,  and  other  products 
of  a  primitive  age  of  plumbing.  From  this  place, 


1 64      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

discarding  the  aid  of  light,  Mr.  Bud  and  his  visitor 
felt  their  way  down-stairs. 

"  Yes,"  spoke  Mr.  Bud,  as  they  descended  in  the 
darkness,  "  one  'ud  almost  imagine  it  was  true  about 
his  bein'  pursued  with  bad  luck.  To  think  of  the 
young  lady  turnin'  out  staunch  after  all,  an'  his 
disappearin'  just  in  time  to  miss  the  news !  That 
beats  me!  " 

"  And  how  do  you  suppose  the  young  lady  feels 
about  it?"  said  Larcher.  "It  breaks  my  heart  to 
have  nothing  to  report,  when  I  see  her.  She's  really 
an  angel  of  a  girl." 

They  emerged  to  the  street,  and  Mr.  Bud's  mind 
recurred  to  the  stranger  he  had  run  against  in  the 
hallway.  When  they  had  reseated  themselves  in  the 
saloon,  and  the  soup  had  been  brought,  the  old 
man  said  to  the  bartender : 

"  I  see  there's  a  new  roomer,  Mick  ?  " 

"Where?"  asked  Mick. 

"  In  the  house  here.    Somewheres  up-stairs." 

"  If  there  is,  he's  a  new  one  on  me,"  said  Mick, 
decidedly. 

"  What?  Ain't  there  a  new  roomer  come  in  since 
I  was  here  last?  " 

"  No,  sir,  there  ain't  there." 

"  Well,  that's  funny,"  said  Mr.  Bud,  looking  to 
Larcher  for  comment.  But  Larcher  had  no  thought 


MR.   BUD'S  DARK  HALLWAY  165 

just  then  for  any  subject  but  Davenport,  and  to 
that  he  kept  the  farmer's  attention  during  the  rest 
of  their  talk.  When  the  talk  was  finished,  simul- 
taneously with  the  soup,  it  had  been  agreed  that 
Mr.  Bud  should  "  nose  around "  thereabouts  for 
any  confirmation  of  Lafferty's  theory,  or  any  trace 
of  Davenport,  and  should  send  for  Larcher  if  any 
such  turned  up. 

"  I'll  be  in  town  a  week  ur  two,"  said  the  old 
man,  at  parting.  "  I  been  kep'  so  long  up-country 
this  time,  'count  o'  the  turkey  trade  —  Thanksgivin' 
and  Chris'mas,  y'know.  I  do  considerable  in  poul- 
try." 

But  some  days  passed,  and  Larcher  heard  nothing 
from  Mr.  Bud.  A  few  of  the  newspapers  pub- 
lished Detective  Lafferty's  unearthings,  before  Lar- 
cher had  time  to  prepare  Miss  Kenby  for  them.  She 
hailed  them  with  gladness  as  pointing  to  a  likelihood 
that  Davenport  was  alive;  but  she  ignored  all  im- 
plications of  probable  guilt  on  his  part.  That  the 
amount  of  Bagley's  loss  through  Davenport  was 
no  more  than  Bagley's  rightful  debt  to  Davenport, 
Larcher  had  already  taken  it  on  himself  delicately 
to  inform  her.  She  had  not  seemed  to  think  that 
fact,  or  any  fact,  necessary  to  her  lover's  justifica- 
tion. 


CHAPTER   X. 

A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE 

MEANWHILE  Larcher  was  treated  to  an  odd  ex- 
perience. One  afternoon,  as  he  turned  into  the 
house  of  flats  in  which  Edna  Hill  lived,  he  chanced 
to  look  back  toward  Sixth  Avenue.  He  noticed  a 
pleasant-looking,  smooth-faced  young  man,  very 
erect  in  carriage  and  trim  in  appearance,  coming 
along  from  that  thoroughfare.  He  recalled  now 
that  he  had  observed  this  same  young  man,  who  was 
a  stranger  to  him,  standing  at  the  corner  of  his  own 
street  as  he  left  his  lodgings  that  morning;  and 
again  sauntering  along  behind  him  as  he  took  the 
car  to  come  up-town.  Doubtless,  thought  he,  the 
young  man  had  caught  the  next  car,  and,  by  a  co- 
incidence, got  off  at  the  same  street.  He  passed  in, 
and  the  matter  dropped  from  his  mind. 

But  the  next  day,  as  he  was  coming  out  of  the 
restaurant  where  he  usually  lunched,  his  look  met 
that  of  the  same  neat,  braced-up  young  man,  who 

166 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  1 67 

was  standing  in  the  vestibule  of  a  theatre  across  the 
way.  "  It  seems  I  am  haunted  by  this  gentleman," 
mused  Larcher,  and  scrutinized  him  rather  intently. 
Even  across  the  street,  Larcher  was  impressed  anew 
with  the  young  man's  engagingness  of  expression, 
which  owed  much  to  a  whimsical,  amiable  look 
about  the  mouth. 

Two  hours  later,  having  turned  aside  on  Broad- 
way to  greet  an  acquaintance,  his  roving  eye  fell 
again  on  the  spruce  young  man,  this  time  in  the 
act  of  stepping  into  a  saloon  which  Larcher  had  just 
passed.  "  By  George,  this  is  strange ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"What?"  asked  his  acquaintance. 

"  That's  the  fifth  time  I've  seen  the  same  man  in 
two  days.  He's  just  gone  into  that  saloon." 

"  You're  being  shadowed  by  the  police,"  said  the 
other,  jokingly.  "  What  crime  have  you  com- 
mitted?" 

The  next  afternoon,  as  Larcher  stood  on  the 
stoop  of  the  house  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
glanced  idly  around  while  waiting  for  an  answer  to 
his  ring,  he  beheld  the  young  man  coming  down 
the  other  side  of  the  avenue.  "  Now  this  is  too 
much,"  said  Larcher  to  himself,  glaring  across  at 
the  stranger,  but  instantly  feeling  rebuked  by  the 
innocent  good  humor  that  lurked  about  the  stran- 


1 68       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

ger's  mouth.  As  the  young  man  came  directly 
opposite,  without  having  apparently  noticed  Larcher, 
the  latter's  attention  was  called  away  by  the  com- 
ing of  the  servant  in  response  to  the  bell.  He 
entered  the  house,  and,  as  he  awaited  the  announce- 
ment of  his  name  to  Miss  Kenby,  he  asked  himself 
whether  this  haunting  of  his  footsteps  might  indeed 
be  an  intended  act.  "  Do  they  think  I  may  be  in 
communication  with  Davenport?  and  are  they  hav- 
ing me  shadowed?  That  would  be  interesting." 
But  this  strange  young  man  looked  too  intelligent, 
too  refined,  too  superior  in  every  way,  for  the  trade 
of  a  shadowing  detective.  Besides,  a  "  shadow  " 
would  not,  as  a  rule,  appear  on  three  successive  days 
in  precisely  the  same  clothes  and  hat. 

And  yet,  when  Larcher  left  the  house  half  an 
hour  later,  whom  did  he  see  gazing  at  the  display 
in  a  publisher's  window  near  by,  on  the  same  side 
of  the  street,  but  the  young  man?  Flaring  up  at 
this  evidence  to  the  probability  that  he  was  really 
being  dogged,  Larcher  walked  straight  to  the  young 
man's  side,  and  stared  questioningly  at  the  young 
man's  reflection  in  the  plate  glass.  The  young  man 
glanced  around  in  a  casual  manner,  as  at  the  sud- 
den approach  of  a  newcomer,  and  then  resumed 
his  contemplation  of  the  books  in  the  window.  The 
amiability  of  the  young  man's  countenance,  the  quiz- 


A    NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  169 

zical  good  nature  of  his  dimpled  face,  disarmed 
resentment.  Feeling  somewhat  foolish,  Larcher 
feigned  an  interest  in  the  show  of  books  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  went  his  way,  leaving  the  young 
man  before  the  window.  Larcher  presently  looked 
back;  the  young  man  was  still  there,  still  gazing 
at  the  books.  Apparently  he  was  not  taking  further 
note  of  Larcher's  movements.  This  was  the  end 
of  Larcher's  odd  experience ;  he  did  not  again  have 
reason  to  suppose  himself  followed. 

The  third  time  Larcher  called  to  see  Miss  Kenby 
after  this,  he  had  not  been  seated  five  minutes  when 
there  came  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  Florence 
rose  and  opened  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Kenby,"  said  a  very 
masculine,  almost  husky  voice  in  the  hall ;  "  these 
are  the  cigars  I  was  speaking  of  to  your  father. 
May  I  leave  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  come  in,  come  in,  Mr.  Turl,"  called  out 
Miss  Kenby's  father  himself  from  the  fireside. 

"  Thank  you,  no ;   I  won't  intrude." 

"  But  you  must ;  I  want  to  see  you,"  Mr.  Kenby 
insisted,  fussily  getting  to  his  feet. 

Larcher  asked  himself  where  he  had  heard  the 
name  of  Turl.  Before  his  memory  could  answer, 
the  person  addressed  by  that  name  entered  the  room 
in  a  politely  hesitating  manner,  bowed,  and  stood 


I/O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

waiting  for  father  and  daughter  to  be  seated.  He 
was  none  other  than  the  smooth-faced,  pleasant- 
looking  young  man  with  the  trim  appearance  and 
erect  attitude.  Larcher  sat  open-eyed  and  dumb. 

Mr.  Kenby  was  for  not  only  throwing  his  atten- 
tion entirely  around  the  newcomer,  but  for  snubbing 
Larcher  utterly  forthwith;  seeing  which,  Florence 
took  upon  herself  the  office  of  introducing  the  two 
young  men.  Mr.  Turl,  in  resting  his  eyes  on 
Larcher,  showed  no  consciousness  of  having  en- 
countered him  before.  They  were  blue  eyes,  clear 
and  soft,  and  with  something  kind  and  well-wish- 
ing in  their  look.  Larcher  found  the  whole  face, 
now  that  it  was  animated  with  a  sense  of  his  ex- 
istence, pleasanter  than  ever.  He  found  himself 
attracted  by  it;  and  all  the  more  for  that  did  he 
wonder  at  the  young  man's  appearance  in  the  house 
of  his  acquaintances,  after  those  numerous  appear- 
ances in  his  wake  in  the  street. 

Mr.  Kenby  now  took  exclusive  possession  of  Mr. 
Turl,  and  while  those  two  were  discussing  the  qual- 
ities of  the  cigars,  Larcher  had  an  opportunity  of 
asking  Florence,  quietly: 

"Who  is  your  visitor?  Have  you  known  him 
long?" 

"  Only  three  or  four  days.    He  is  a  new  guest 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  171 

in  the  house.  Father  met  him  in  the  public  drawing- 
room,  and  has  taken  a  liking  to  him." 

"  He  seems  likeable.  I  was  wondering  where 
I'd  heard  the  name.  It's  not  a  common  name." 

No,  it  was  not  common.  Florence  had  seen  it  in 
a  novel  or  somewhere,  but  had  never  before  met 
anybody  possessing  it.  She  agreed  that  he  seemed 
likeable,  —  agreed,  that  is  to  say,  as  far  as  she 
thought  of  him  at  all,  for  what  was  he,  or  any 
casual  acquaintance,  to  a  woman  in  her  state  of 
mind? 

Larcher  regarded  him  with  interest.  The  full, 
clear  brow,  from  which  the  hair  was  tightly  brushed, 
denoted  intellectual  qualities,  but  the  rest  of  the 
face  —  straight-bridged  nose,  dimpled  cheeks,  and 
quizzical  mouth  —  meant  urbanity.  The  warm 
healthy  tinge  of  his  complexion,  evenly  spread  from 
brow  to  chin,  from  ear-tip  to  ear-tip,  was  that  of 
a  social  rather  than  bookish  or  thoughtful  person. 
He  soon  showed  his  civility  by  adroitly  contriving 
to  include  Florence  and  Larcher  in  his  conversation 
with  Mr.  Kenby.  Talk  ran  along  easily  for  half 
an  hour  upon  the  shop  windows  during  the  Christ- 
mas season,  the  new  calendars,  the  picture  exhibi- 
tions, the  "  art  gift-books,"  and  such  topics,  on  all 
of  which  Mr.  Turl  spoke  with  liveliness  and  taste. 


1/2       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

("  Fancy  my  supposing  this  man  a  detective," 
mused  Larcher.) 

"  I've  been  looking  about  in  the  art  shops  and 
the  old  book  stores,"  said  Mr.  Turl,  "  for  a  copy  of 
the  Boydell  Shakespeare  Gallery,  as  it  was  called. 
You  know,  of  course,  —  engravings  from  the  Boy- 
dell  collection  of  Shakespearean  paintings.  It  was 
convenient  to  have  them  in  a  volume.  I'm  sorry 
it  has  disappeared  from  the  shops.  I'd  like  very 
much  to  have  another  look  through  it." 

"  You  can  easily  have  that,"  said  Larcher,  who 
had  impatiently  awaited  a  chance  to  speak.  "  I 
happen  to  possess  the  book." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ?  I  envy  you.  I  haven't  seen  a 
copy  of  it  in  years." 

"  You're  very  welcome  to  see  mine.  I  wouldn't 
part  with  it  permanently,  of  course,  but  if  you  don't 
object  to  borrowing  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  deprive  you  of  it,  even  for  a 
short  time.  The  value  of  owning  such  a  thing  is 
to  have  it  always  by;  one  mayn't  touch  it  for 
months,  but,  when  the  mood  comes  for  it,  there  it 
is.  I  never  permit  anybody  to  lend  me  such  things." 

"  Then  if  you  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of  lend- 
ing it,  will  you  take  the  trouble  of  coming  to  see 
it  ?  "  Larcher  handed  him  his  card. 

"  You're  very  kind,"  replied  Turl,  glancing  at 


A    NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  173 

the  address.  "  If  you're  sure  it  won't  be  putting 
you  to  trouble.  At  what  time  shall  I  be  least  in 
your  way  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  in  to-morrow  afternoon,  —  but  per- 
haps you're  not  free  till  evening." 

"  Oh,  I  can  choose  my  hours ;  I  have  nothing 
to  do  to-morrow  afternoon." 

( "  Evidently  a  gentleman  of  leisure,"  thought 
Larch  er. ) 

So  it  was  settled  that  he  should  call  about  three 
o'clock,  an  appointment  which  Mr.  Kenby,  whose 
opinion  of  Larcher  had  not  changed  since  their  first 
meeting,  viewed  with  decided  lack  of  interest. 

When  Larcher  left,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  was  so 
far  under  the  spell  of  the  newcomer's  amiability 
that  he  felt  as  if  their  acquaintance  were  consid- 
erably older  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

Nevertheless,  he  kept  ransacking  his  memory  for 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  had  before  heard 
the  name  of  Turl.  To  be  sure,  this  Turl  might  not 
be  the  Turl  whose  name  he  had  heard ;  but  the  fact 
that  he  had  heard  the  name,  and  the  coincidences 
in  his  observation  of  the  man  himself,  made  the 
question  perpetually  insistent.  He  sought  out  Barry 
Tompkins,  and  asked,  "Did  you  ever  mention  to 
me  a  man  named  Turl  ?  " 

"  Never  in  a  state  of  consciousness,"  was  Tomp- 


174       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

kins's  reply;  and  an  equally  negative  answer  came 
from  everybody  else  to  whom  Larcher  put  the  query 
that  day. 

He  thought  of  friend  after  friend  until  it  came 
Murray  Davenport's  turn  in  his  mental  review.  He 
had  a  momentary  feeling  that  the  search  was  warm 
here;  but  the  feeling  succumbed  to  the  considera- 
tion that  Davenport  had  never  much  to  say  about 
acquaintances.  Davenport  seemed  to  have  put 
friendship  behind  him,  unless  that  which  existed 
between  him  and  Larcher  could  be  called  friendship ; 
his  talk  was  not  often  of  any  individual  person. 

"Well,"  thought  Larcher,  "when  Mr.  Turl 
comes  to  see  me,  I  shall  find  out  whether  there's 
anybody  we  both  know.  If  there  is,  I  shall  learn 
more  of  Mr.  Turl.  Then  light  may  be  thrown  on 
his  haunting  my  steps  for  three  days,,  and  subse- 
quently turning  up  in  the  rooms  of  people  I  visit." 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Turl,  at  the  appointed  hour 
the  next  afternoon,  instantly  put  to  rout  all  doubts 
of  his  being  other  than  he  seemed.  In  the  man's 
agreeable  presence,  Larcher  felt  that  to  imagine 
the  coincidences  anything  but  coincidences  was 
absurd. 

The  two  young  men  were  soon  bending  over  the 
book  of  engravings,  which  lay  on  a  table.  Turl 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  175 

pointed  out  beauties  of  detail  which  Larcher  had 
never  observed. 

"  You  talk  like  an  artist,"  said  Larcher. 

"  I  have  dabbled  a  little,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
believe  I  can  draw,  when  put  to  it." 

"  You  ought  to  be  put  to  it  occasionally,  then." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  putting  myself 
to  it.  Illustrating,  I  mean,  as  a  profession.  One 
never  knows  when  one  may  have  to  go  to  work  for 
a  living.  If  one  has  a  start  when  that  time  comes, 
so  much  the  better." 

"  Perhaps  I  might  be  of  some  service  to  you. 
I  know  a  few  editors." 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  You  mean  you  would 
ask  them  to  give  me  work  to  illustrate?  " 

"  If  you  wished.  Or  sometimes  the  text  and 
illustrations  may  be  done  first,  and  then  submitted 
together.  A  friend  of  mine  had  some  success  with 
me  that  way;  I  wrote  the  stuff,  he  made  the  pic- 
tures, and  the  combination  took  its  chances.  We 
did  very  well.  My  friend  was  Murray  Davenport, 
who  disappeared.  Perhaps  you've  heard  of  him." 

"  I  think  I  read  something  in  the  papers,"  replied 
Turl.  "  He  went  to  South  America  or  somewhere, 
didn't  he?" 

' "  A  detective  thinks  so,  but  the  case  is  a  com- 
plete mystery,"  said  Larcher,  making  the  mental 


1 76      THE  MYSTER  Y  OF  MURRA  Y  DA  VENPOR  T 

note  that,  as  Turl  evidently  had  not  known  Daven- 
port, it  could  not  be  Davenport  who  had  mentioned 
Turl.  "  Hasn't  Mr.  Kenby  or  his  daughter  ever 
spoken  of  it  to  you  ?  "  added  Larcher,  after  a  mo- 
ment. 

"No.  Why  should  they?"  asked  the  other, 
turning  over  a  page  of  the  volume. 

"  They  knew  him.  Miss  Kenby  is  very  unhappy 
over  his  disappearance." 

Did  a  curious  look  come  over  Mr.  Turl's  face  for 
an  instant,  as  he  carefully  regarded  the  picture 
before  him?  If  it  did,  it  passed. 

"  I've  noticed  she  has  seemed  depressed,  or  ab- 
stracted," he  replied.  "  It's  a  pity.  She's  very 
beautiful  and  womanly.  She  loved  this  man,  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  what  makes  it  worse,  there  was  a 
curious  misunderstanding  on  his  part,  which  would 
have  been  removed  if  he  hadn't  disappeared.  That 
aggravates  her  unhappiness." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  her.  But  time  wears  away  unhap- 
piness of  that  sort/' 

"  I  hope  it  will  in  this  case  —  if  it  doesn't  turn 
it  to  joy  by  bringing  Davenport  back." 

Turl  was  silent,  and  Larcher  did  not  continue  the 
subject.  When  the  visitor  was  through  with  the 
pictures,  he  joined  his  host  at  the  fire,  resigning 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  177 

himself  appreciatively  to  one  of  the  great,  hand- 
some easy-chairs  —  new  specimens  of  an  old  style 
—  in  which  Larcher  indulged  himself. 

"  A  pleasant  place  you  have  here,"  said  the  guest, 
while  Larcher  was  bringing  forth  sundry  bottles 
and  such  from  a  closet  which  did  duty  as  sideboard. 

"  It  ought  to  be,"  replied  Larcher.  "  Some  fel- 
lows in  this  town  only  sleep  in  their  rooms,  but  I 
work  in  mine." 

"  And  entertain,"  said  Turl,  with  a  smile,  as  the 
bottles  and  other  things  were  placed  on  a  little  round 
table  at  his  elbow.  "  Here's  variety  of  choice.  I 
think  I'll  take  some  of  that  red  wine,  whatever 
it  is,  and  a  sandwich.  I  require  a  wet  day  for 
whisky.  Your  quarters  here  put  me  out  of  conceit 
with  my  own." 

"  Why,  you  live  in  a  good  house,"  said  Larcher, 
helping  himself  in  turn. 

"Good  enough,  as  they  go;  what  the  newspa- 
pers would  call  a  '  fashionable  boarding-house.'  Im- 
agine a  fashionable  boarding-house !  "  He  smiled. 
"  But  my  own  portion  of  the  house  is  limited  in 
space.  In  fact,  at  present  I  come  under  the  head 
of  hall-bedroom  young  men.  I  know  the  hall-bed- 
room has  supplanted  the  attic  chamber  of  an  earlier 
generation  of  budding  geniuses;  but  I  prefer  com- 
fort to  romance." 


i;8       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  go  to  that  house?  " 

"  I  saw  its  advertisement  in  the  '  boarders 
wanted '  column.  I  liked  the  neighborhood.  It's 
the  old  Knickerbocker  neighborhood,  you  know. 
Not  much  of  the  old  Knickerbocker  atmosphere 
left.  It's  my  first  experience  as  a  '  boarder '  in 
New  York.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  I  prefer  to  be 
a  *  roomer  '  and  '  eat  out.'  I  have  been  a  '  paying 
guest '  in  London,  but  fared  better  there  as  a  mere 
'  lodger.'  " 

"  You're  not  English,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Good  American,  but  of  a  roving  habit. 
American  in  blood  and  political  principles;  but  not 
willing  to  narrow  my  life  down  to  the  resources 
of  any  one  country.  I  was  born  in  New  York,  in 
fact,  but  of  course  before  the  era  of  sky-scrapers, 
multitudinous  noises,  and  perpetual  building  opera- 
tions." 

"  I  thought  there  was  something  of  an  English 
accent  in  your  speech  now  and  then." 

"  Very  probably.  When  I  was  ten  years  old,  my 
father's  business  took  us  to  England;  he  was  put 
in  charge  of  the  London  branch.  I  was  sent  to  a 
private  school  at  Folkestone,  where  I  got  the  small 
Latin,  and  no  Greek  at  all,  that  I  boast  of.  Do  you 
know  Folkestone?  The  wind  on  the  cliffs,  the  pine- 
trees  down  their  slopes,  the  vessels  in  the  channel, 


A    NEW  ACQUAINTANCE  179 

the  faint  coast  of  France  in  clear  weather?  I  was 
to  have  gone  from  there  to  one  of  the  universities, 
but  my  mother  died,  and  my  father  soon  after,  — 
the  only  sorrows  I've  ever  had,  —  and  I  decided, 
on  my  own,  to  cut  the  university  career,  and  jump 
into  the  study  of  pictorial  art.  Since  then,  I've 
always  done  as  I  liked." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  made  any  great  mis- 
takes." 

"  No.  I've  never  gone  hunting  trouble.  Unlike 
most  people  who  are  doomed  to  uneventful  happi- 
ness, I  don't  sigh  for  adventure." 

"  Then  your  life  has  been  uneventful  since  you 
jumped  into  the  study  of  art?" 

"  Entirely.  Cast  always  in  smooth  and  agreeable 
lines.  I  studied  first  in  a  London  studio,  then  in 
Paris;  travelled  in  various  parts  of  Europe  and 
the  United  States ;  lived  in  London  and  New  York ; 
and  there  you  are.  I've  never  had  to  work,  so  far. 
But  the  money  my  father  left  me  has  gone  —  I  spent 
the  principal  because  I  had  other  expectations.  And 
now  this  other  little  fortune,  that  I  meant  to  use 
frugally,  is  in  dispute.  I  may  be  deprived  of  it  by 
a  decision  to  be  given  shortly.  In  that  case,  I  shall 
have  to  earn  my  mutton  chops  like  many  a  better 
man." 

"  You  seem  to  take  the  prospect  very  cheerfully." 


ISO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  fortunate.  Good  fortune  is  my 
destiny.  Thing's  come  my  way.  My  wants  are 
few.  I  make  friends  easily.  I  have  to  make  them 
easily,  or  I  shouldn't  make  any,  changing  my  place 
so  often.  A  new  place,  new  friends.  Even  when 
I  go  back  to  an  old  place,  I  rather  form  new  friend- 
ships that  chance  throws  in  my  way,  than  hunt  up 
the  old  ones.  I  must  confess  I  find  new  friends  the 
more  interesting,  the  more  suited  to  my  new  wants. 
Old  friends  so  often  disappoint  on  revisitation. 
You  change,  they  don't ;  or  they  change,  you  don't ; 
or  they  change,  and  you  change,  but  not  in  the  same 
ways.  The  Jones  of  yesterday  and  the  Brown  of 
yesterday  were  eminently  fitted  to  be  friends;  but 
the  Jones  of  to-day  and  the  Brown  of  to-day  are 
different  men,  through  different  experiences,  and 
don't  harmonize.  Why  clog  the  present  with  the 
past?" 

As  he  sipped  his  wine  and  ate  his  sandwich, 
gazing  contentedly  into  the  fire  the  while,  Mr.  Turl 
looked  the  living  justification  of  his  philosophy. 


CHAPTER  XL 

FLORENCE    DECLARES    HER    ALLEGIANCE 

DURING  the  next  few  weeks,  Larcher  saw  much 
of  Mr.  Turl.  The  Kenbys,  living  under  the  same 
roof,  saw  even  more  of  him.  It  was  thus  inevitable 
that  Edna  Hill  should  be  added  to  his  list  of  new 
acquaintances.  She  declared  him  "  nice,"  and  was 
not  above  trying  to  make  Larcher  a  little  jealous. 
But  Turl,  beyond  the  amiability  which  he  had  for 
everybody,  was  not  of  a  coming-on  disposition. 
Sometimes  Larcher  fancied  there  was  the  slightest 
addition  of  tenderness  to  that  amiability  when  Turl 
regarded,  or  spoke  to,  Florence  Kenby.  But,  if 
there  was,  nobody  need  wonder  at  it.  The  new- 
comer could  not  realize  how  permanently  and  en- 
tirely another  image  filled  her  heart.  It  would  be 
for  him  to  find  that  out  —  if  his  feelings  indeed 
concerned  themselves  with  her  —  when  those  feel- 
ings should  take  hope  and  dare  expression.  Mean- 
while it  was  nobody's  place  to  warn  him. 

181 


1 82       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

If  poor  Davenport's  image  remained  as  living 
as  ever  in  Florence  Kenby's  heart,  that  was  the  only 
place  in  New  York  where  it  did  remain  so.  With 
Larcher,  it  went  the  course  of  such  images;  occu- 
pied less  and  less  of  his  thoughts,  grew  more  and 
more  vague.  He  no  longer  kept  up  any  pretence 
of  inquiry.  He  had  ceased  to  call  at  police  head- 
quarters and  on  Mrs.  Haze.  That  good  woman 
had  his  address  "  in  case  anything  turned  up."  She 
had  rented  Davenport's  room  to  a  new  lodger;  his 
hired  piano  had  been  removed  by  the  owners,  and 
his  personal  belongings  had  been  packed  away  un- 
claimed by  heir  or  creditor.  For  any  trace  of  him 
that  lingered  on  the  scene  of  his  toils  and  ponder- 
ings,  the  man  might  never  have  lived  at  all. 

It  was  now  the  end  of  January.  One  afternoon 
Larcher,  busy  at  his  writing-table,  was  about  to 
light  up,  as  the  day  was  fading,  when  he  was  sur- 
prised by  two  callers,  —  Edna  Hill  and  her  Aunt 
Clara. 

"  Well,  this  is  jolly !  "  he  cried,  welcoming  them 
with  a  glowing  face. 

"  It's  not  half  bad,"  said  Edna,  applying  the  ex- 
pression to  the  room.  "  I  don't  believe  so  much 
comfort  is  good  for  a  young  man." 

She  pointed  her  remark  by  dropping  into  one 
of  the  two  great  chairs  before  the  fire.  Her  aunt, 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER   ALLEGIANCE      183 

panting  a  little  from  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  had 
already  deposited  her  rather  plump  figure  in  the 
other. 

"  But  I'm  a  hard-working  young  man,  as  you  can 
see,"  he  replied,  with  a  gesture  toward  the  table. 

"  Is  that  where  you  grind  out  the  things  the 
magazines  reject?"  asked  Edna.  "Oh,  don't  light 
up.  The  firelight  is  just  right;  isn't  it,  auntie?" 

"  Charming,"  said  Aunt  Clara,  still  panting. 
"  You  must  miss  an  elevator  in  the  house,  Mr. 
Larcher." 

"  If  it  would  assure  me  of  more  visits  like  this, 
I'd  move  to  where  there  was  one.  You  can't  imag- 
ine how  refreshing  it  is,  in  the  midst  of  the  lonely 
grind,  to  have  you  come  in  and  brighten  things  up." 

"  We're  keeping  you  from  your  work,  Tommy," 
said  Edna,  with  sudden  seriousness,  whether  real 
or  mock  he  could  not  tell. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  throw  it  over  for  the  day. 
Shall  I  have  some  tea  made  for  you?  Or  will  you 
take  some  wine?  " 

"  No,  thanks ;  we've  just  had  tea." 

"  I  think  a  glass  of  wine  would  be  good  for  me 
after  that  climb,"  suggested  Aunt  Clara.  Larcher 
hastened  to  serve  her,  and  then  brought  a  chair  for 
himself. 

"  I  just  came  in  to  tell  you  what  I've  discovered," 


184      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

said  Edna.  "  Mr.  Turl  is  in  love  with  Florence 
Kenby!" 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Larcher. 

"  By  the  way  he  looks  at  her,  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  she  knows  it,  too  —  I  can  see  that." 

"  And  what  does  she  appear  to  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  What  would  she  think  about  it  ?  She  has  noth- 
ing against  him;  but  of  course  it'll  be  love's  labor 
lost  on  his  side.  I  suppose  he  doesn't  know  that 
yet,  poor  fellow.  All  she  can  do  is  to  ignore  the 
signs,  and  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible,  and  not 
hurt  his  feelings.  It's  a  pity." 

"What  is?" 

"  That  she  isn't  open  to  —  new  impressions,  — 
you  know  what  I  mean.  He's  an  awfully  nice  young 
man,  so  tall  and  straight,  —  they  would  look  so 
well  together." 

"  Edna,  you  amaze  me !  "  said  Larcher.  "  How 
can  you  want  her  to  be  inconstant?  I  thought  you 
were  full  of  admiration  for  her  loyalty  to  Daven- 
port." 

"  So  I  was,  when  there  was  a  tangible  Davenport. 
As  long  as  we  knew  he  was  alive,  and  within  reach, 
there  was  a  hope  of  straightening  things  out  be- 
tween them.  I'd  set  my  heart  on  accomplishing 
that." 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE       185 

"  I  know  you  like  to  play  the  goddess  from  the 
machine,"  observed  Larcher. 

"  She's  prematurely  given  to  match-making," 
said  Aunt  Clara,  now  restored  to  her  placidity. 

"  Be  good,  auntie,  or  I'll  make  a  match  between 
you  and  Mr.  Kenby,"  threatened  Edna.  "  Well, 
now  that  the  best  we  can  hope  for  about  Davenport 
is  that  he  went  away  with  another  man's  money  —  " 

"  But  I've  told  you  the  other  man  morally  owed 
him  that  much  money." 

"  That  won't  make  it  any  safer  for  him  to  come 
back  to  New  York.  And  you  know  what's  waiting 
for  him  if  he  does  come  back,  unless  he's  got  an 
awfully  good  explanation.  And  as  for  Florence's 
going  to  him,  what  chance  is  there  now  of  ever 
rinding  out  where  he  is?  It  would  either  be  one 
of  those  impossible  countries  where  there's  no  extra- 
dition, or  a  place  where  he'd  always  be  virtually  in 
hiding.  What  a  horrid  life !  So  I  think  if  she  isn't 
going  to  be  miserable  the  rest  of  her  days,  it's  time 
she  tried  to  forget  the  absent." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right,"  said  Larcher. 

"  So  I  came  in  to  say  that  I'm  going  to  do  all 
I  quietly  can  to  distract  her  thoughts  from  the  past, 
and  get  her  to  look  around  her.  If  I  see  any  way 
of  preparing  her  mind  to  think  well  of  Mr.  Ttirl, 
I'll  do  it.  And  what  I  want  of  you  is  not  to  dis- 


1 86       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

courage  him  by  any  sort  of  hints  or  allusions  —  to 
Davenport,  you  understand." 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  been  making  any.  I  told  him  the 
mere  fact,  that's  all.  I'm  neither  for  him  nor  against 
him.  I  have  no  right  to  be  against  him  —  and  yet, 
when  I  think  of  poor  Davenport,  I  can't  bring  my- 
self to  be  for  Turl,  much  as  I  like  him." 

"  All  right.  Be  neutral,  that's  all  I  ask.  How  is 
Turl  getting  on  with  his  plan  of  going  to  work  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  has  excellent  chances.  He's  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  ruck  of  black-and-white  artists. 
He  makes  wonderfully  good  comics.  He'll  have 
no  trouble  getting  into  the  weeklies,  to  begin  with." 

"  Is  it  settled  yet,  about  that  money  of  his  in 
dispute?" 

"  I  don't  know.     He  hasn't  spoken  of  it  lately." 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  care  much.  I'm  going  to 
do  my  little  utmost  to  keep  Florence  from  avoiding 
him.  I  know  how  to  manage.  I'm  going  to  re- 
awaken her  interest  in  life  in  general,  too.  She's 
promised  to  go  for  a  drive  with  me  to-morrow. 
Do  you  want  to  come  along?  " 

"  I  jump  at  the  chance  —  if  there's  room." 

"  There'll  be  a  landau,  with  a  pair.  Aunt  Clara 
won't  come,  because  Mr.  Kenby's  coming,  and  she 
doesn't  love  him  a  little  bit." 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      l8/ 

"  Neither  do  I,  but  for  the  sake  of  your  so- 
ciety —  " 

"All  right.  I'll  get  the  Kenbys  first,  and  pick 
you  up  here  on  the  way  to  the  park.  You  can  take 
Mr.  Kenby  off  our  hands,  and  leave  me  free  to 
cheer  up  Florence." 

This  assignment  regarding  Mr.  Kenby  had  a 
moderating  effect  on  Larcher's  pleasure,  both  at  that 
moment  and  during  the  drive  itself.  But  he  gave 
himself  up  heroically  to  starting  the  elder  man  on 
favorite  topics,  and  listening  to  his  discourse 
thereon.  He  was  rewarded  by  seeng  that  Edna 
was  indeed  successful  in  bringing  a  smile  to  her 
friend's  face  now  and  then.  Florence  was  drawn 
out  of  her  abstracted  air;  she  began  to  have  eyes 
for  the  scenes  around  her.  It  was  a  clear,  cold,  ex- 
hilarating afternoon.  In  the  winding  driveways  of 
the  park,  there  seemed  to  be  more  than  the  usual 
number  of  fine  horses  and  pretty  women,  the  latter 
in  handsome  wraps  and  with  cheeks  radiant  from 
the  frosty  air.  Edna  was  adroit  enough  not  to  pro- 
long the  drive  to  the  stage  of  numbness  and  melan- 
choly. She  had  just  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive 
home,  when  the  rear  of  the  carriage  suddenly  sank 
a  little  and  a  wheel  ground  against  the  side.  Edna 
screamed,  and  the  driver  stopped  the  horses.  Peo- 


I  88       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

pie  came  running  up  from  the  walks,  and  the  words 
"  broken  axle  "  went  round. 

"  We  shall  have  to  get  out,"  said  Larcher,  leading 
the  way.  He  instantly  helped  Florence  to  alight, 
then  Edna  and  Mr.  Kenby. 

"  Oh,  what  a  nuisance !  "  cried  Edna.  "  We  can't 
go  home  in  this  carriage,  of  course." 

"  No,  miss,"  said  the  driver,  who  had  resigned 
his  horses  to  a  park  policeman,  and  was  examining 
the  break.  "  But  you'll  be  able  to  pick  up  a  cab 
in  the  avenue  yonder.  I'll  send  for  one  if  you  say 
so." 

"  What  a  bore !  "  said  Edna,  vexatiously. 

Several  conveyances  had  halted,  for  the  occupants 
to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  From  one  of  them  — 
an  automobile  —  a  large,  well-dressed  man  strode 
over  and  greeted  Larcher  with  the  words: 

"  How  are  you  ?    Had  an  accident  ?  " 

It  was  Mr.  Bagley.  Larcher  briefly  answered, 
"  Broken  axle." 

"  Well,"  said  Edna,  annoyed  at  being  the  centre 
of  a  crowd,  "  I  suppose  we'd  better  walk  over  to 
Fifth  Avenue  and  take  a  cab." 

"  You're  quite  welcome  to  the  use  of  my  auto- 
mobile for  your  party,"  said  Bagley  to  Larcher, 
having  swiftly  inspected  the  members  of  that  party. 

As  Edna,  hearing  this,  glanced  at  Bagley  with 


YOU'RE    QUITE    WELCOME    TO    THE    USE   OF    MY 
AUTOMOBILE1" 


FLORENCE   DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      189 

interest,  and  at  Larcher  with  inquiry,  Larcher  felt 
it  was  his  cue  to  introduce  the  newcomer.  He  did 
so,  with  no  very  good  grace.  At  the  name  of  Bag- 
ley,  the  girls  exchanged  a  look.  Mr.  Kenby's  man- 
ner was  gracious,  as  was  natural  toward  a  man 
who  owned  an  automobile  and  had  an  air  of  money. 

"  I'm  sorry  you've  had  this  break-down,"  said 
Bagley,  addressing  the  party  collectively.  "  Won't 
you  do  me  the  honor  of  using  my  car  ?  You're  not 
likely  to  find  an  open  carriage  in  this  neighborhood." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Edna  Hill,  chillily.  "We 
can't  think  of  putting  you  out." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  put  me  out.  There's  nobody 
but  me  and  the  chauffeur.  My  car  holds  six  people. 
I  can't  allow  you  to  go  for  a  carriage  when  mine's 
here  waiting.  It  wouldn't  be  right.  I  can  set  you 
all  down  at  your  homes  without  any  trouble." 

During  this  speech,  Bagley's  eyes  had  rested  first 
on  Edna,  then  on  Mr.  Kenby,  and  finally,  for  a 
longer  time,  on  Florence.  At  the  end,  they  went 
back  to  Mr.  Kenby,  as  if  putting  the  office  of  reply 
on  him. 

"Your  kindness  is  most  opportune,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Kenby,  mustering  cordiality  enough  to  make 
up  for  the  coldness  of  the  others.  "  I'm  not  at  my 
best  to-day,  and  if  I  had  to  walk  any  distance,  or 


IQO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

wait  here  in  the  cold,  I  don't  know  what  would 
happen." 

He  started  at  once  for  the  automobile,  and  there 
was  nothing  for  the  girls  to  do,  short  of  prudery 
or  haughtiness,  but  follow  him;  nor  for  Larcher 
to  do  but  follow  the  girls. 

Bagley  sat  in  front  with  the  chauffeur,  but,  as  the 
car  flew  along,  he  turned  half  round  to  keep  up  a 
shouting  conversation  with  Mr.  Kenby.  His  glance 
went  far  enough  to  take  in  Florence,  who  shared 
the  rear  seat  with  Edna.  The  spirits  of  the  girls 
rose  in  response  to  the  swift  motion,  and  Edna  had 
so  far  recovered  her  merriment  by  the  time  her 
house  was  reached,  as  to  be  sorry  to  get  down.  The 
party  was  to  have  had  tea  in  her  flat;  but  Mr. 
Kenby  decided  he  would  rather  go  directly  home  by 
automobile  than  wait  and  proceed  otherwise.  So 
he  left  Florence  to  the  escort  of  Larcher,  and  re- 
mained as  Mr.  Bagley's  sole  passenger. 

"  That  was  the  Mr.  Bagley,  was  it?  "  asked  Flor- 
ence, as  the  three  young  people  turned  into  the 
house. 

"  Yes,"  said  Larcher.  "  I  ought  to  have  got  rid 
of  him,  I  suppose.  But  Edna's  look  was  so  im- 
perative." 

"  I  didn't  know  who  he  was,  then,"  put  in  Edna. 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      191 

"  But  after  all,  there  was  no  harm  in  using  his 
automobile." 

"  Why,  he  as  much  as  accused  Murray  Davenport 
of  absconding  with  his  money,"  said  Florence,  with 
a  reproachful  look  at  Edna. 

"  Oh,  well,  he  couldn't  understand,  dear.  He 
only  knew  that  the  money  and  the  man  were  miss- 
ing. He  could  think  of  only  one  explanation, — 
men  like  that  are  so  unimaginative  and  business- 
like. He's  a  bold,  coarse-looking  creature.  We 
sha'n't  see  anything  more  of  him." 

"I  trust  not,"  said  Larcher;  "but  he's  one  of 
the  pushful  sort.  He  doesn't  know  when  he's 
snubbed.  He  thinks  money  will  admit  a  man  any- 
where. I'm  sorry  he  turned  up  at  that  moment." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Florence,  and  added,  explana- 
torily, "  you  know  how  ready  my  father  is  to  make 
new  acquaintances,  without  stopping  to  consider." 

That  her  apprehension  was  right,  in  this  case, 
was  shown  three  days  later,  when  Edna,  calling 
and  finding  her  alone,  saw  a  bunch  of  great  red  roses 
in  a  vase  on  the  table. 

"  Oh,  what  beauties !  "  cried  Edna. 

"  Mr.  Bagley  sent  them,"  replied  Florence, 
quickly,  with  a  helpless,  perplexed  air.  "  Father 
invited  him  to  call." 

"H'm!     Why  didn't  you  send  them  back?" 


IQ2       THE  ^MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  I  thought  of  it,  but  I  didn't  want  to  make  so 
much  of  the  matter.  And  then  there'd  have  been 
a  scene  with  father.  Of  course,  anybody  may  send 
flowers  to  anybody.  I  might  throw  them  away,  but 
I  haven't  the  heart  to  treat  flowers  badly.  They 
can't  help  it." 

"Does  Mr.  Bagley  improve  on  acquaintance?" 

"  I  never  met  such  a  combination  of  crudeness 
and  self-assurance.  Father  says  it's  men  of  that 
sort  that  become  millionaires.  If  it  is,  I  can  under- 
stand why  American  millionaires  are  looked  down 
on  in  other  countries." 

"  It's  not  because  of  their  millions,  it's  because 
of  their  manners,"  said  Edna.  "  But  what  would 
you  expect  of  men  who  consider  money-making  the 
greatest  thing  in  the  world?  I'm  awfully  sorry  if 
you  have  to  be  afflicted  with  any  more  visits  from 
Mr.  Bagley." 

"  I'll  see  him  as  rarely  as  I  can.  I  should  hate 
him  for  the  injuries  he  did  Murray,  even  if  he  were 
possible  otherwise." 

When  Edna  saw  Larcher,  the  next  time  he  called 
at  the  flat,  she  first  sent  him  into  a  mood  of  self- 
blame  by  telling  what  had  resulted  from  the  intro- 
duction of  Bagley.  Then,  when  she  had  sufficiently 
enjoyed  his  verbal  self -chastisement,  she  suddenly 
brought  him  around  by  saying : 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER   ALLEGIANCE       193 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  not  sorry  for  the 
way  things  have  turned  out.  If  she  has  to  see  much 
of  Bagley,  she  can't  help  comparing  him  with  the 
other  man  they  see  much  of,  —  I  mean  Turl,  not 
you.  The  more  she  loathes  Bagley,  the  more  she'll 
look  with  relief  to  Turl.  His  good  qualities  will 
stand  out  by  contrast.  Her  father  will  want  her 
to  tolerate  Bagley.  The  old  man  probably  thinks 
it  isn't  too  late,  after  all,  to  try  for  a  rich  son-in- 
law.  Now  that  Davenport  is  out  of  the  way,  he'll 
be  at  his  old  games  again.  He's  sure  to  prefer 
Bagley,  because  Turl  makes  no  secret  about  his 
money  being  uncertain.  And  the  best  thing  for 
Turl  is  to  have  Mr.  Kenby  favor  Bagley.  Do  you 
see  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  are  you  sure  you're  right  in  taking 
up  Turl's  cause  so  heartily?  We  know  so  little 
of  him,  really.  He's  a  very  new  acquaintance,  after 
all." 

"Oh,  you  suspicious  wretch!  As  if  anybody 
couldn't  see  he  was  all  right  by  just  looking  at  him ! 
And  I  thought  you  liked  him !  " 

"  So  I  do ;  and  when  I'm  in  his  company  I  can't 
doubt  that  he's  the  best  fellow  in  the  world.  But 
sometimes,  when  he's  not  present,  I  remember  — 

"Well,  what?     What  do  you  remember?" 


194      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Oh,  nothing,  —  only  that  appearances  are  some- 
times deceptive,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

In  assuming  that  Bagley's  advent  on  the  scene 
would  make  Florence  more  appreciative  of  Turl's 
society,  Edna  was  right.  Such,  indeed,  was  the 
immediate  effect.  Mr.  Kenby  himself,  though  his 
first  impression  that  Turl  was  a  young  man  of 
assured  fortune  had  been  removed  by  the  young 
man's  own  story,  still  encouraged  his  visits  on  the 
brilliant  theory  that  Bagley,  if  he  had  intentions, 
would  be  stimulated  by  the  presence  of  a  rival.  As 
Bagley's  visits  continued,  it  fell  out  that  he  and 
Turl  eventually  met  in  the  drawing-room  of  the 
Kenbys,  some  days  after  Edna  Hill's  last  recorded 
talk  with  Larcher.  But,  though  they  met,  few 
words  were  wasted  between  them.  Bagley,  after  a 
searching  stare,  dismissed  the  younger  man  as  of 
no  consequence,  because  lacking  the  signs  of  a 
money-grabber;  and  the  younger  man,  having 
shown  a  moment's  curiosity,  dropped  Bagley  as  be- 
neath interest  for  possessing  those  signs.  Bagley 
tried  to  outstay  Turl ;  but  Turl  had  the  advantage 
of  later  arrival  and  of  perfect  control  of  temper. 
Bagley  took  his  departure,  therefore,  with  the  dry 
voice  and  set  face  of  one  who  has  difficulty  in 
holding  his  wrath.  Perceiving  that  something  was 
amiss,  Mr.  Kenby  made  a  pretext  to  accompany 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      195 

Bagley  a  part  of  his  way,  with  the  design  of  leav- 
ing him  in  a  better  humor.  In  magnifying  his 
newly  discovered  Bagley,  Mr.  Kenby  committed 
the  blunder  of  taking  too  little  account  of  Turl; 
and  thus  Turl  found  himself  suddenly  alone  with 
Florence. 

The  short  afternoon  was  already  losing  its  light, 
and  the  glow  of  the  fire  was  having  its  hour  of 
supremacy  before  it  should  in  turn  take  second  place 
to  gaslight.  For  a  few  moments  Florence  was 
silent,  looking  absently  out  of  the  window  and 
across  the  wintry  twilight  to  the  rear  profile  of  the 
Gothic  church  beyond  the  back  gardens.  Turl 
watched  her  face,  with  a  softened,  wistful,  per- 
plexed look  on  his  own.  The  ticking  of  the  clock 
on  the  mantel  grew  very  loud. 

Suddenly  Turl  spoke,  in  the  quietest,  gentlest 
manner. 

"  You  must  not  be  unhappy." 

She  turned,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  a  look  that 
asked  him  how  he  knew  her  heart. 

"  I  know  it  from  your  face,  your  demeanor  all 
the  time,  whatever  you're  doing,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  seem  grave,"  she  replied, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "  it's  only  my  way.  I've  always 
been  a  serious  person." 


196       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  But  your  gravity  wasn't  formerly  tinged  with 
sorrow;  it  had  no  touch  of  brooding  anxiety." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  I  can  see  that  your  unhappiness  is  recent  in 
its  cause.  Besides,  I  have  heard  the  cause  men- 
tioned." There  was  an  odd  expression  for  a  mo- 
ment on  his  face,  an  odd  wavering  in  his  voice. 

"  Then  you  can't  wonder  that  I'm  unhappy,  if 
you  know  the  cause." 

"  But  I  can  tell  you  that  you  oughtn't  to  be  un- 
happy. No  one  ought  to  be,  when  the  cause  belongs 
to  the  past,  —  unless  there's  reason  for  self-re- 
proach, and  there's  no  such  reason  with  you. 
We  oughtn't  to  carry  the  past  along  with  us;  we 
oughtn't  to  be  ridden  by  it,  oppressed  by  it.  We 
should  put  it  where  it  belongs,  —  behind  us.  We 
should  sweep  the  old  sorrows  out  of  our  hearts, 
to  make  room  there  for  any  happiness  the  present 
may  offer.  Believe  me,  I'm  right.  We  allow  the 
past  too  great  a  claim  upon  us.  The  present  has  the 
true,  legitimate  claim.  You  needn't  be  unhappy. 
You  can  forget.  Try  to  forget.  You  rob  yourself, 
—  you  rob  others." 

She  gazed  at  him  silently;  then  answered,  in  a 
colder  tone :  "  But  you  don't  understand.  With 
me  it  isn't  a  matter  of  grieving  over  the  past.  It's 
a  matter  of  —  of  absence." 


FLORENCE  DECLARES  HER  ALLEGIANCE      197 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  so  very  gently  that  the  most 
sensitive  heart  could  not  have  taken  offence,  "  it 
is  of  the  past.  Forgive  me;  but  I  think  you  do 
wrong  to  cherish  any  hopes.  I  think  you'd  best 
resign  yourself  to  believe  that  all  is  of  the  past ;  and 
then  try  to  forget." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  she  cried,  turning  pale. 

Again  that  odd  look  on  his  face,  accompanied  this 
time  by  a  single  twitching  of  the  lips  and  a  momen- 
tary reflection  of  her  own  pallor. 

"  One  can  see  how  much  you  cared  for  him,"  was 
his  reply,  sadly  uttered. 

"  Cared  for  him  ?  I  still  care  for  him !  How  do 
you  know  he  is  of  the  past?  What  makes  you  say 
that?" 

"  I  only  —  look  at  the  probabilities  of  the  case, 
as  others  do,  more  calmly  than  you.  I  feel  sure 
he  will  never  come  back,  never  be  heard  of  again 
in  New  York.  I  think  you  ought  to  accustom  your- 
self to  that  view ;  your  whole  life  will  be  darkened 
if  you  don't." 

"  Well,  I'll  not  take  that  view.  I'll  be  faithful  to 
him  forever.  I  believe  I  shall  hear  from  him  yet. 
If  not,  if  my  life  is  to  be  darkened  by  being  true 
to  him,  by  hoping  to  meet  him  again,  let  it  be  dark- 
ened !  I'll  never  give  him  up !  Never !  " 

Pain    showed    on    Turl's    countenance.      "You 


198       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

mustn't  doom  yourself  —  you  mustn't  waste  your 
life,"  he  protested. 

"  Why  not,  if  I  choose?    What  is  it  to  you?  " 

He  waited  a  moment ;  then  answered,  simply,  "  I 
love  you." 

The  naturalness  of  his  announcement,  as  the  only 
and  complete  reply  to  her  question,  forbade  resent- 
ment. Yet  her  face  turned  scarlet,  and  when  she 
spoke,  after  a  few  moments,  it  was  with  a  cold 
finality. 

"  I  belong  to  the  absent  —  entirely  and  forever. 
Nothing  can  change  my  hope;  or  make  me  forget 
or  want  to  forget." 

Turl  looked  at  her  with  the  mixture  of  tender- 
ness and  perplexity  which  he  had  shown  before; 
but  this  time  it  was  more  poignant. 

"  I  see  I  must  wait,"  he  said,  quietly. 

There  was  a  touch  of  anger  in  her  tone  as  she 
retorted,  with  an  impatient  laugh,  "  It  will  be  a 
long  time  of  waiting." 

He  sighed  deeply;  then  bade  her  good  afternoon 
in  his  usual  courteous  manner,  and  left  her  alone. 
When  the  door  had  closed,  her  eyes  followed  him 
in  imagination,  with  a  frown  of  beginning  dislike. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

LARCHER    PUTS    THIS    AND    THAT    TOGETHER 

Two  or  three  days  after  this,  Turl  dropped  in 
to  see  Larcher,  incidentally  to  leave  some  sketches, 
mainly  for  the  pleasanter  passing  of  an  hour  in  a 
gray  afternoon.  Upon  the  announcement  of  another 
visitor,  whose  name  was  not  given,  Turl  took  his 
departure.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  met  the 
other  visitor,  a  man,  whom  the  servant  had  just 
directed  to  Larcher's  room.  The  hallway  was  rather 
dark  as  the  incomer  and  outgoer  passed  each  other; 
but,  the  servant  at  that  instant  lighting  the  gas, 
Turl  glanced  around  for  a  better  look,  and  encoun- 
tered the  other's  glance  at  the  same  time  turned  after 
himself.  Each  halted,  Turl  for  a  scarce  perceptible 
instant,  the  other  for  a  moment  longer.  Then  Turl 
passed  out,  the  servant  having  run  to  open  the  door ; 
and  the  new  visitor  went  on  up  the  stairs. 

The  new  visitor  found  Larcher  waiting  in  expecta- 
tion of  being  either  bored  or  startled,  as  a  man 
usually  is  by  callers  who  come  anonymously.  But 
199 


2OO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

when  a  tall,  somewhat  bent,  white-bearded  old  man 
with  baggy  black  clothes  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
Larcher  jumped  up  smiling. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Bud !    This  is  a  pleasant  surprise !  " 

Mr.  Bud,  from  a  somewhat  timid  and  embarrassed 
state,  was  warmed  into  heartiness  by  Larcher's  wel- 
come, and  easily  induced  to  doff  his  overcoat  and 
be  comfortable  before  the  fire.  "  I  thought,  as  you'd 
gev  me  your  address,  you  wouldn't  object  — "  Mr. 
Bud  began  with  a  beaming  countenance;  but  sud- 
denly stopped  short  and  looked  thoughtful.  "  Say 
—  I  met  a  young  man  down-stairs,  goin'  out." 

"  Mr.  Turl  probably.  He  just  left  me.  A  neat- 
looking,  smooth-faced  young  man,  smartly  dressed." 

"  That's  him.    What  name  did  you  say?  " 

"  Turl." 

"  Never  heard  the  name.  But  I've  seen  that 
young  fellow  somewhere.  It's  funny :  as  I  looked 
round  at  'im  just  now,  it  seemed  to  me  all  at  wunst 
as  if  I'd  met  that  same  young  man  in  that  same 
place  a  long  time  ago.  But  I've  never  been  in  this 
house  before,  so  it  couldn't  'a'  been  in  that  same 
place." 

"  We  often  have  that  feeling  —  of  precisely  the 
same  thing  having  happened  a  long  time  ago. 
Dickens  mentions  it  in  '  David  Copperfield.'  There's 
a  scientific  theory  —  " 


L ARCHER  PUTS   THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER   2OI 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  this  wasn't  exactly  that.  It 
was,  an'  it  wasn't.  I'm  dead  sure  I  did  reely  meet 
that  chap  in  some  such  place.  An'  a  funny  thing  is, 
somehow  or  other  you  was  concerned  in  the  other 
meeting  like  you  are  in  this." 

"  Well,  that's  interesting,"  said  Larcher,  recalling 
how  Turl  had  once  seemed  to  be  haunting  his  foot- 
steps. 

"  I've  got  it ! "  cried  Mr.  Bud,  triumphantly. 
"  D'yuh  mind  that  night  you  came  and  told  me  about 
Davenport's  disappearance?  —  and  we  went  up  an' 
searched  my  room  fur  a  trace?  " 

"  And  found  the  note-book  cover  that  showed  he 
had  been  there?  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  remember,  as  we  went  into  the  hall- 
way we  met  a  man  comin'  out,  an'  I  turned  round 
an'  looked  at  'im  ?  That  was  the  man  I  met  just  now 
down-stairs." 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  Sure's  I'm  settin'  here.  I  see  his  face  that  first 
time  by  the  light  o'  the  street-lamp,  an;  just  now 
by  the  gaslight  in  the  hall.  An'  both  times  him  and 
me  turned  round  to  look  at  each  other.  I  noticed 
then  what  a  good-humored  face  he  had,  an'  how  he 
walked  with  his  shoulders  back.  Oh,  that's  the 
same  man  all  right  enough.  What  yuh  say  his  name 
was  ?  " 


2O2       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Turl  —  T-u-r-1.  Have  you  ever  seen  him  at 
any  other  time?  " 

"  Never.  I  kep'  my  eye  peeled  fur  'im  too,  after 
I  found  there  was  no  new  lodger  in  the  house.  An' 
the  funny  part  was,  none  o'  the  other  roomers  knew 
anything  about  'im.  No  such  man  had  visited  any 
o'  them  that  evening.  So  what  the  dickens  was  he 
doin'  there?  " 

"  It's  curious.  I  haven't  known  Mr.  Turl  very 
long,  but  there  have  been  some  strange  things  in 
my  observation  of  him,  too.  And  it's  always  seemed 
to  me  that  I'd  heard  his  name  before.  He's  a  clever 
fellow  —  here  are  some  comic  sketches  he  brought 
me  this  afternoon."  Larcher  got  the  drawings  from 
his  table,  and  handed  them  to  Mr.  Bud.  "  I  don't 
know  how  good  these  are;  I  haven't  examined 
them  yet." 

The  farmer  grinned  at  the  fun  of  the  first  pic- 
ture, then  read  aloud  the  name,  "  F.  Turl." 

"Oh,  has  he  signed  this  lot?"  asked  Larcher. 
"  I  told  him  he  ought  to.  Let's  see  what  his  signa- 
ture looks  like."  He  glanced  at  the  corner  of  the 
sketch ;  suddenly  he  exclaimed :  "  By  George,  I've 
seen  that  name!  —  and  written  just  like  that !  " 

"  Like  as  not  you've  had  letters  from  him,  or 
somethin'." 

"  Never.     I'm  positive  this  is  the  first  of  his 


L ARCHER  PUTS   THIS  AND   THAT  TOGETHER  203 

writing  I've  seen  since  I've  known  him.  Where 
the  deuce? "  He  shut  his  eyes,  and  made  a  strong 
effort  of  memory.  Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes 
again,  and  stared  hard  at  the  signature.  "  Yes,  sir ! 
Francis  Turl  —  that  was  the  name.  And  who  do 
you  think  showed  me  a  note  signed  by  that  name 
in  this  very  handwriting?  " 

"  Give  it  up." 

"  Murray  Davenport." 

"  Yuh  don't  say." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Murray  Davenport,  the  last  night  I 
ever  saw  him.  He  asked  me  to  judge  the  writer's 
character  from  the  penmanship.  It  was  a  note  about 
a  meeting  between  the  two.  Now  I  wonder  —  was 
that  an  old  note,  and  had  the  meeting  occurred 
already?  or  was  the  meeting  yet  to  come?  You 
see,  the  next  day  Davenport  disappeared." 

"  H'm !  An'  subsequently  this  young  man  is  seen 
comin'  out  o'  the  hallway  Davenport  was  seen 
goin'  into." 

"  But  it  was  several  weeks  subsequently.  Still, 
it's  odd  enough.  If  there  was  a  meeting  after 
Davenport's  disappearance,  why  mightn't  it  have 
been  in  your  room  ?  Why  mightn't  Davenport  have 
appointed  it  to  occur  there?  Perhaps,  when  we 
first  met  Turl  that  night,  he  had  gone  back  there  in 


2O4      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

search  of  Davenport  —  or  for  some  other  purpose 
connected  with  him." 

"  H'm !  What  has  this  Mr.  Turl  to  say  about 
Davenport's  disappearance?" 

"  Nothing.  And  that's  odd,  too.  He  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  Davenport,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  written  to  him  about  a  meeting.  And  yet  he's 
left  us  under  the  impression  that  he  didn't  know  him. 
—  And  then  his  following  me  about!  —  Before  I 
made  his  acquaintance,  I  noticed  him  several  times 
apparently  on  my  track.  And  when  I  did  make  his 
acquaintance,  it  was  in  the  rooms  of  the  lady  Daven- 
port had  been  in  love  with.  Turl  had  recently  come 
to  the  same  house  to  live,  and  her  father  had  taken 
him  up.  His  going  there  to  live  looks  like  another 
queer  thing." 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  hull  bunch  o'  queer  things 
about  this  Mr.  Turl.  I  guess  he's  wuth  studyin'." 

"  I  should  think  so.  Let's  put  these  queer  things 
together  in  chronological  order.  He  writes  a  note 
to  Murray  Davenport  about  a  meeting  to  occur  be- 
tween them;  some  weeks  later  he  is  seen  coming 
from  the  place  Murray  Davenport  was  last  seen 
going  into ;  within  a  few  days  of  that,  he  shadows 
the  movements  of  Murray  Davenport's  friend 
Larcher;  within  a  few  more  days  he  takes  a  room 
in  the  house  where  Murray  Davenport's  sweetheart 


L ARCHER  PUTS   THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER   205 

lives,  and  makes  her  acquaintance;  and  finally,  when 
Davenport  is  mentioned,  lets  it  be  assumed  that  he 
didn't  know  the  man." 

"  And  incidentally,  whenever  he  meets  Murray 
Davenport's  other  friend,  Mr.  Bud,  he  turns  around 
for  a  better  look  at  him.  H'm!  Well,  what  yuh 
make  out  o'  all  that  ?  " 

"  To  begin  with,  that  there  was  certainly  some- 
thing between  Turl  and  Davenport  which  Turl 
doesn't  want  Davenport's  friends  to  know.  What 
do  you  make  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  That's  all,  so  fur.  Whatever  there  was  between 
'em,  as  it  brought  Turl  to  the  place  where  Davenport 
disappeared  from  knowledge,  we  ain't  takin'  too  big 
chances  to  suppose  it  had  somethin'  to  do  with  the 
disappearance.  This  Turl  ought  to  be  studied;  an' 
it's  up  to  you  to  do  the  studyin',  as  you  c'n  do  it 
quiet  an'  unsuspected.  There  ain't  no  necessity  o' 
draggin'  in  the  police  ur  anybody,  at  this  stage  o' 
the  game." 

"  You're  quite  right,  all  through.  I'll  sound  him 
as  well  as  I  can.  It'll  be  an  unpleasant  job,  for  he's 
a  gentleman  and  I  like  him.  But  of  course,  where 
there's  so  much  about  a  man  that  calls  for  explana- 
tion, he's  a  fair  object  of  suspicion.  And  Murray 
Davenport's  case  has  first  claim  on  me." 


2O6      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  If  I  were  you,  I'd  compare  notes  with  the  young 
lady.  Maybe,  for  all  you  know,  she's  observed  a 
thing  or  two  since  she's  met  this  man.  Her  interest 
in  Davenport  must  'a'  been  as  great  as  yours.  She'd 
have  sharp  eyes  fur  anything  bearin'  on  his  case. 
This  Turl  went  to  her  house  to  live,  you  say.  I 
should  guess  that  her  house  would  be  a  good  place 
to  study  him  in.  She  might  find  out  considerable." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Larcher,  somewhat  slowly,  for 
he  wondered  what  Edna  would  say  about  placing 
Turl  in  a  suspicious  light  in  Florence's  view.  But 
his  fear  of  Edna's  displeasure,  though  it  might  over- 
cloud, could  not  prohibit  his  performance  of  a  task 
he  thought  ought  to  be  done.  He  resolved,  there- 
fore, to  consult  with  Florence  as  soon  as  possible 
after  first  taking  care,  for  his  own  future  peace,  to 
confide  in  Edna. 

"  Between  you  an'  the  young  lady,"  Mr.  Bud 
went  on,  "  you  may  discover  enough  to  make  Mr. 
Turl  see  his  way  clear  to  tellin'  what  he  knows  about 
Davenport.  Him  an'  Davenport  may  V  been  in 
some  scheme  together..  They  may  'a'  been  friends, 
or  they  may  'a'  been  foes.  He  may  be  in  Daven- 
port's confidence  at  the  present  moment ;  or  he  may 
'a'  had  a  hand  in  gettin'  rid  o'  Davenport.  Or  then 
again,  whatever  was  between  'em  mayn't  'a'  had  any- 


LARCHER  PUTS   THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER  2O/ 

thing  to  do  with  the  disappearance ;  an'  Turl  mayn't 
want  to  own  up  to  knowin'  Davenport,  for  fear  o' 
bein'  connected  with  the  disappearance.  The  thing 
is,  to  get  'im  with  his  back  to  the  wall  an'  make  'im 
deliver  up  what  he  knows." 

Mr.  Bud's  call  turned  out  to  have  been  merely 
social  in  its  motive.  Larcher  took  him  to  dinner  at 
a  smart  restaurant,  which  the  old  man  declared  he 
would  never  have  had  the  nerve  to  enter  by  himself; 
and  finally  set  him  on  his  way  smoking  a  cigar, 
which  he  said  made  him  feel  like  a  Fi'th  Avenoo 
millionaire.  Larcher  instantly  boarded  an  up-town 
car,  with  the  better  hope  of  finding  Edna  at  home 
because  the  weather  had  turned  blowy  and  snowy 
to  a  degree  which  threatened  a  howling  blizzard. 
His  hope  was  justified.  With  an  adroitness  that 
somewhat  surprised  himself,  he  put  his  facts  before 
the  young  lady  in  such  a  non-committal  way  as  to 
make  her  think  herself  the  first  to  point  the  finger 
of  suspicion  at  Turl.  Important  with  her  discovery, 
she  promptly  ignored  her  former  partisanship  of 
that  gentleman,  and  was  for  taking  Florence 
straightway  into  confidence.  Larcher  for  once  did 
not  deplore  the  instantaneous  completeness  with 
which  the  feminine  mind  can  shift  about.  Edna  des- 
patched a  note  bidding  Florence  come  to  luncheon  the 


208       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

next  day;  she  would  send  a  cab  for  her,  to  make 
sure. 

The  next  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  whirl  of  snow 
that  made  it  nearly  impossible  to  see  across  the 
street,  Florence  appeared. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  were  almost  her  first  words. 
"  Why  do  you  look  so  serious  ?  " 

"  I've  found  out  something.  I  mus'n't  tell  you 
till  after  luncheon.  Tom  will  be  here,  and  I'll  have 
him  speak  for  himself.  It's  a  very  delicate  matter." 

Florence  had  sufficient  self-control  to  bide  in 
patience,  holding  her  wonder  in  check.  Edna's  por- 
tentous manner  throughout  luncheon  was  enough 
to  keep  expectation  at  the  highest.  Even  Aunt 
Clara  noticed  it,  and  had  to  be  put  off  with  evasive 
reasons.  Subsequently  Edna  set  the  elderly  lady  to 
writing  letters  in  a  cubicle  that  went  by  the  name  of 
library,  so  the  young  people  should  have  the  draw- 
ing-room to  themselves.  Readers  who  have  lived  in 
New  York  flats  need  not  be  reminded  of  the  skill 
the  inmates  must  sometimes  employ  to  get  rid  of  one 
another  for  awhile. 

Larcher  arrived  in  a  wind-worn,  snow-beaten  con- 
dition, and  had  to  stand  before  the  fire  a  minute 
before  he  got  the  shivers  out  of  his  body  or  the 
blizzard  out  of  his  talk.  Then  he  yielded  to  the 


L  ARC  HER  PUTS   THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER   209 

offered  embrace  of  an  armchair  facing  the  grate, 
between  the  two  young  ladies. 

Edna  at  once  assumed  the  role  of  examining 
counsel.  "  Now  tell  Florence  all  about  it,  from  the 
beginning." 

"  Have  you  told  her  whom  it  concerns  ? "  he 
asked  Edna. 

"  I  haven't  told  her  a  word." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  she'd  better  know  first "  — 
he  turned  to  Florence  —  "  that  it  concerns  somebody 
we  met  through  her  —  through  you,  Miss  Kenby. 
But  we  think  the  importance  of  the  matter  justi- 
fies —  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  broke  in  Edna.  "  He's 
nothing  to  Florence.  We're  perfectly  free  to  speak 
of  him  as  we  like.  —  It's  about  Mr.  Turl,  dear." 

"Mr.  Turl?"  There  was  something  eager  in 
Florence's  surprise,  a  more  than  expected  readiness 
to  hear. 

"  Why,"  said  Larcher,  struck  by  her  expression, 
"  have  you  noticed  anything  about  his  conduct  — 
anything  odd  ?  " 

"I'm  not  sure.  I'll  hear  you  first.  One  or  two 
things  have  made  me  think." 

"  Things  in  connection  with  somebody  we 
know  ?  "  queried  Larcher. 


2IO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Yes." 

"  With  —  Murray  Davenport?  " 

"  Yes  —  tell  me  what  you  know."  Florence's 
eyes  were  poignantly  intent. 

Larcher  made  rapid  work  of  his  story,  in  impa- 
tience for  hers.  His  relation  deeply  impressed  her. 
As  soon  as  he  had  done,  she  began,  in  suppressed 
excitement : 

"  With  all  those  circumstances  —  there  can  be  no 
doubt  he  knows  something.  And  two  things  I  can 
add.  He  spoke  once  as  if  he  had  seen  me  in  the 
past ;  —  I  mean  before  the  disappearance.  What 
makes  that  strange  is,  I  don't  remember  having  ever 
met  him  before.  And  stranger  still,  the  other  thing 
I  noticed :  he  seemed  so  sure  Murray  would  never 
come  back  "  —  her  voice  quivered,  but  she  resumed 
in  a  moment :  "  He  must  know  something  about  the 
disappearance.  What  could  he  have  had  to  do  with 
Murray?" 

Larcher  gave  his  own  conjectures,  or  those  of 
Mr.  Bud  —  without  credit  to  that  gentleman,  how- 
ever. As  a  last  possibility,  he  suggested  that  Turl 
might  still  be  in  Davenport's  confidence.  "  For  all 
we  know,"  said  Larcher,  "  it  may  be  their  plan  for 
Davenport  to  communciate  with  us  through  Turl. 
Or  he  may  have  undertaken  to  keep  Davenport  in- 


L ARCHER  PUTS   THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER   211 

formed  about  our  welfare.  In  some  way  or  other 
he  may  be  acting  for  Davenport,  secretly,  of  course." 

Florence  slowly  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  think 
so,"  she  said. 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Edna,  quickly,  with  a  search- 
ing look.  "  Has  he  been  making  love  to  you?  " 

Florence  blushed.  "  I  can  hardly  put  it  as  posi- 
tively as  that,"  she  answered,  reluctantly. 

"  He  might  have  undertaken  to  act  for  Davenport, 
and  still  have  fallen  in  love,"  suggested  Larcher. 

"  Yes,  I  daresay,  Tom,  you  know  the  treachery 
men  are  capable  of,"  put  in  Edna.  "  But  if  he  did 
that  —  if  he  was  in  Davenport's  confidence,  and  yet 
spoke  of  love,  or  showed  it  —  he  was  false  to  Daven- 
port. And  so  in  any  case  he's  got  to  give  an  account 
of  himself." 

"How  are  we  to  make  him  do  it?"  asked 
Larcher. 

Edna,  by  a  glance,  passed  the  question  on  to 
Florence. 

"  We  must  go  cautiously,"  Florence  said,  gazing 
into  the  fire.  "  We  don't  know  what  occurred 
between  him  and  Murray.  He  may  have  been  for 
Murray ;  or  he  may  have  been  against  him.  They 
may  have  acted  together  in  bringing  about  his  — 
departure  from  New  York.  Or  Turl  may  have 
caused  it  for  his  own  purposes.  We  must  draw  the 


212       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

truth  from  him  —  we  must  have  him  where  he  can't 
elude  us." 

Larcher  was  surprised  at  her  intensity  of  resolu- 
tion, her  implacability  toward  Turl  on  the  supposi- 
tion of  his  having  borne  an  adverse  part  toward 
Davenport.  It  was  plain  she  would  allow  considera- 
tion for  no  one  to  stand  in  her  way,  where  light  on 
Davenport's  fate  was  promised. 

"  You  mean  that  we  should  force  matters?  —  not 
wait  and  watch  for  other  circumstances  to  come 
out  ?  "  queried  Larcher. 

"  I  mean  that  we'll  force  matters.  We'll  take 
him  by  surprise  with  what  we  already  know,  and 
demand  the  full  truth.  We'll  use  every  advantage 
against  him  —  first  make  sure  to  have  him  alone 
with  us  three,  and  then  suddenly  exhibit  our  knowl- 
edge and  follow  it  up  with  questions.  We'll  startle 
the  secret  from  him.  I'll  threaten,  if  necessary  — 
I'll  put  the  worst  possible  construction  on  the  facts 
we  possess,  and  drive  him  to  tell  all  in  self-defence." 
Florence  was  scarlet  with  suppressed  energy  of 
purpose. 

"  The  thing,  then,  is  to  arrange  for  having  him 
alone  with  us,"  said  Larcher,  yielding  at  once  to  her 
initiative. 

"  As  soon  as  possible,"  replied  Florence,  falling 
into  thought 


LARCHER   PUTS    THIS  AND    THAT  TOGETHER   21$ 

"  We  might  send  for  him  to  call  here,"  suggested 
Edna,  who  found  the  situation  as  exciting  as  a 
play.  "  But  then  Aunt  Clara  would  be  in  the  way. 
I  couldn't  send  her  out  in  such  weather.  Tom,  we'd 
better  come  to  your  rooms,  and  you  invite  him 
there/' 

Larcher  was  not  enamored  of  that  idea.  A  man 
does  not  like  to  invite  another  to  the  particular  kind 
of  surprise-party  intended  on  this  occasion.  His 
share  in  the  entertainment  would  be  disagreeable 
enough  at  best,  without  any  questionable  use  of  the 
forms  of  hospitality.  Before  he  could  be  pressed 
for  an  answer,  Florence  came  to  his  relief. 

"  Listen !  Father  is  to  play  whist  this  evening 
with  some  people  up-stairs  who  always  keep  him 
late.  So  we  three  shall  have  my  rooms  to  ourselves 
—  and  Mr.  Turl.  I'll  see  to  it  that  he  comes.  Ill 
go  home  now,  and  give  orders  requesting  him  to 
call.  But  you  two  must  be  there  when  he  arrives. 
Come  to  dinner  —  or  come  back  with  me  now.  You 
will  stay  all  night,  Edna." 

After  some  discussion,  it  was  settled  that  Edna 
should  accompany  Florence  home  at  once,  and 
Larcher  join  them  immediately  after  dinner.  This 
arranged,  Larcher  left  the  girls  to  make  their  ex- 
cuses to  Aunt  Clara  and  go  down-town  in  a  cab.  He 
had  some  work  of  his  own  for  the  afternoon.  As 


214       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Edna  pressed  his  hand  at  parting,  she  whispered, 
nervously:  "  It's  quite  thrilling,  isn't  it?  "  He  faced 
the  blizzard  again  with  a  feeling  that  the  anticipatory 
thrill  of  the  coming  evening's  business  was  anything 
but  pleasant. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

MR.    TURL    WITH     HIS    BACK    TO    THE    WALL 

THE  living  arrangements  of  the  Kenbys  were 
somewhat  more  exclusive  than  those  to  which  the 
ordinary  residents  of  boarding-houses  are  subject. 
Father  and  daughter  had  their  meals  served  in  their 
own  principal  room,  the  one  with  the  large  fireplace, 
the  piano,  the  big  red  easy  chairs,  and  the  great 
window  looking  across  the  back  gardens  to  the 
Gothic  church.  The  small  bedchamber  opening  off 
this  apartment  was  used  by  Mr.  Kenby.  Florence 
slept  in  a  rear  room  on  the  floor  above. 

The  dinner  of  three  was  scarcely  over,  on  this 
blizzardy  evening,  when  Mr.  Kenby  betook  himself 
up-stairs  for  his  whist,  to  which,  he  had  confided 
to  the  girls,  there  was  promise  of  additional  attrac- 
tion in  the  shape  of  claret  punch,  and  sundry  pleas- 
ing indigestibles  to  be  sent  in  from  a  restaurant  at 
eleven  o'clock. 

"So  if  Mr.  Turl  comes  at  half-past  eight,  we 
215 


2l6      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

shall  have  at  least  three  hours,"  said  Edna,  when 
Florence  and  she  were  alone  together. 

"How  excited  you  are,  dear!"  was  the  reply. 
"  You're  almost  shaking." 

"  No,  I'm  not  —  it's  from  the  cold." 

"  Why,  I  don't  think  it's  cold  here." 

"  It's  from  looking  at  the  cold,  I  mean.  Doesn't 
it  make  you  shiver  to  see  the  snow  flying  around 
out  there  in  the  night?  Ugh!  "  She  gazed  out  at 
the  whirl  of  flakes  illumined  by  the  electric  lights 
in  the  street  between  the  furthest  garden  and  the 
church.  They  flung  themselves  around  the  pinnacles, 
to  build  higher  the  white  load  on  the  steep  roof. 
Nearer,  the  gardens  and  trees,  the  tops  of  walls  and 
fences,  the  verandas  and  shutters,  were  covered  thick 
with  snow,  the  mass  of  which  was  ever  augmented 
by  the  myriad  rushing  particles. 

Edna  turned  from  this  scene  to  the  fire,  before 
which  Florence  was  already  seated.  The  sound  of 
an  electric  door-bell  came  from  the  hall. 

"  It's  Tom,"  cried  Edna.  "  Good  boy !  —  ahead 
of  time."  But  the  negro  man  servant  announced  Mr. 
Bagley. 

A  look  of  displeasure  marked  Florence's  answer. 
"  Tell  him  my  father  is  not  here  —  is  spending  the 
evening  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawrence." 

"  Mr.  Bagley !  —  he  must  be  devoted,  to  call  on 


MR.    TURL    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO    THE    WALL      21 ? 

such  a  night !  "  remarked  Edna,  when  the  servant 
had  gone. 

"  He  calls  at  all  sorts  of  times.  And  his  invita- 
tions !  —  he's  forever  wanting  us  to  go  to  the  theatre 

—  or  on  his  automobile  —  or  to  dine  at  Delmonico's 

—  or  to  a  skating-rink,  or  somewhere.     Refusals 
don't  discourage  him.    You'd  think  he  was  a  philan- 
thropist, determined  to  give  us  some  of  the  pleas- 
ures of  life.     The  worst  of  it  is,  father  sometimes 
accepts  —  for  himself." 

Another  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  servant  ap- 
peared again.  The  gentleman  wished  to  know  if 
he  might  come  in  and  leave  a  message  with  Miss 
Kenby  for  her  father. 

"  Very  well,"   she  sighed.     "  Show  him  in." 

"  If  he  threatens  to  stay  two  minutes,  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do  to  make  it  chilly,"  volunteered  Edna. 

Mr.  Bagley  entered,  red-faced  from  the  weather, 
but  undaunted  and  undauntable,  and  with  the  un- 
conscious air  of  conferring  a  favor  on  Miss  Kenby 
by  his  coming,  despite  his  manifest  admiration. 
Edna  he  took  somewhat  aback  by  barely  noticing 
at  all. 

He  sat  down  without  invitation,  expressed  himself 
in  his  brassy  voice  about  the  weather,  and  then,  in- 
stead of  confiding  a  message,  showed  a  mind  for 


2l8       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

general  conversation  by  asking  Miss  Kenby  if  she 
had  read  an  evening  paper. 

She  had  not. 

"  I  see  that  Count  What's-his-name's  wedding 
came  off  all  the  same,  in  spite  of  the  blizzard,"  said 
Mr.  Bagley.  "  I  s'pose  he  wasn't  going  to  take 
any  chances  of  losing  his  heiress." 

Florence  had  nothing  to  say  on  this  subject,  but 
Edna  could  not  keep  silent. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  What-you-call-her  was  just  as 
anxious  to  make  sure  of  her  title  —  poor  thing !  " 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  interposed  Florence, 
gently.  "  Perhaps  they  love  each  other." 

"  Titled  Europeans  don't  marry  American  girls 
for  love,"  said  Edna.  "  Haven't  you  been  abroad 
enough  to  find  out  that?  Or  if  they  ever  do,  they 
keep  that  motive  a  secret.  You  ought  to  hear  them 
talk,  over  there.  They  can't  conceive  of  an  Ameri- 
can girl  being  married  for  anything  but  money.  It's 
quite  the  proper  thing  to  marry  one  for  that,  but 
very  bad  form  to  marry  one  for  love." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Bagley,  in  a  manner 
exceedingly  belittling  to  Edna's  knowledge,  "  they've 
got  to  admit  that  our  girls  are  a  very  charming, 
superior  lot  —  with  a  few  exceptions."  His  look 
placed  Miss  Kenby  decidedly  under  the  rule,  but 
left  poor  Edna  somewhere  else. 


MR.  TURL  WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL   2ig 

"  Have  they,  really  ?  "  retorted  Edna,  in  opposition 
at  any  cost.  "  I  know  some  of  them  admit  it,  —  and 
what  they  say  and  write  is  published  and  quoted  in 
this  country.  But  the  unfavorable  things  said  and 
written  in  Europe  about  American  girls  don't  get 
printed  on  this  side.  I  daresay  that's  the  reason  of 
your  one-sided  impression." 

Bagley  looked  hard  at  the  young  woman,  but 
ventured  another  play  for  the  approval  of  Miss 
Kenby : 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  much  to  me  what  they 
say  in  Europe,  but  if  they  don't  admit  the  American 
girl  is  the  handsomest,  and  brightest,  and  cleverest, 
they're  a  long  way  off  the  truth,  that's  all." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by  the  Ameri- 
can girl.  There  are  all  sorts  of  girls  among  us,  as 
there  are  among  girls  of  other  nations:  pretty 
girls  and  plain  ones,  bright  girls  and  stupid  ones, 
clever  girls  and  silly  ones,  smart  girls  and  dowdy 
girls.  Though  I  will  say,  we've  got  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  smart-looking,  well-dressed  girls  than 
any  other  country.  But  then  we  make  up  for  that 
by  so  many  of  us  having  frightful  ya-ya  voices  and 
raw  pronunciations.  As  for  our  wonderful  clever- 
ness, we  have  the  assurance  to  talk  about  things  we 
know  nothing  of,  in  such  a  way  as  to  deceive  some 


220       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

people  for  awhile.  The  girls  of  other  nations 
haven't,  and  that's  the  chief  difference." 

Bagley  looked  as  if  he  knew  not  exactly  where 
he  stood  in  the  argument,  or  exactly  what  the  argu- 
ment was  about;  but  he  returned  to  the  business 
of  impressing  Florence. 

"  Well,  I'm  certain  Miss  Kenby  doesn't  talk  about 
things  she  knows  nothing  of.  If  all  American  girls 
were  like  her,  there'd  be  no  question  which  nation 
had  the  most  beautiful  and  sensible  women." 

Florence  winced  at  the  crude  directness.  "  You 
are  too  kind,"  she  said,  perfunctorily. 

"  As  for  me,"  he  went  on,  "  I've  got  my  opinion 
of  these  European  gentlemen  that  marry  for  money." 

"  We  all  have,  in  this  country,  I  hope,"  said  Edna ; 
"  except,  possibly,  the  few  silly  women  that  become 
the  victims." 

"  I  should  be  perfectly  willing,"  pursued  Bagley, 
magnanimously,  watching  for  the  effect  on  Florence, 
"  to  marry  a  girl  without  a  cent." 

"  And  no  doubt  perfectly  able  to  afford  it,"  re- 
marked Edna,  serenely. 

He  missed  the  point,  and  saw  a  compliment 
instead. 

"  Well,  you're  not  so  far  out  of  the  way  there, 
if  I  do  say  it  myself,"  he  replied,  with  a  stony  smile. 
"  I've  had  my  share  of  good  luck.  Since  the  tide 


MR.  TURL  WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL   221 

turned  in  my  affairs,  some  years  ago,  I've  been  a 
steady  winner.  Somehow  or  other,  nothing  seems 
able  to  fail  that  I  go  into.  It's  really  been  monoto- 
nous. The  only  money  I've  lost  was  some  twenty 
thousand  dollars  that  a  trusted  agent  absconded 
with." 

"  You're  mistaken,"  Florence  broke  in,  with  a 
note  of  indignation  that  made  Bagley  stare.  "  He 
did  not  abscond.  He  has  disappeared,  and  your 
money  may  be  gone  for  the  present.  But  there  was 
no  crime  on  his  part." 

"  Why,  do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  "  asked 
Bagley,  in  a  voice  subdued  by  sheer  wonder. 

"  I  know  that  Murray  Davenport  disappeared,  and 
what  the  newspapers  said  about  your  money;  that 
is  all." 

"  Then  how,  if  I  may  ask,  do  you  know  there 
wasn't  any  crime  intended?  I  inquire  merely  for 
information."  Bagley  was,  indeed,  as  meek  as  he 
could  be  in  his  manner  of  inquiry. 

"  I  know  Murray  Davenport,"  was  her  reply. 

"  You  knew  him  well  ?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  You  —  took  a  great  interest  in  him?  " 

"  Very  great." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Bagley,  in  pure  surprise,  and 
gazing  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  puzzle. 


222       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  You  said  you  had  a  message  for  my  father," 
replied  Florence,  coldly. 

Bagley  rose  slowly.  "  Oh,  yes,"  —  he  spoke  very 
dryly  and  looked  very  blank,  —  "  please  tell  him  if 
the  storm  passes,  and  the  snow  lies,  I  wish  you  and 
he  would  go  sleighing  to-morrow.  I'll  call  at  half- 
past  two." 

"  Thank  you ;  I'll  tell  him." 

Bagley  summoned  up  as  natural  a  "  good  night " 
as  possible,  and  went.  As  he  emerged  from  the 
dark  rear  of  the  hallway  to  the  lighter  part,  any  one 
who  had  been  present  might  have  seen  a  cloudy  red 
look  in  place  of  the  blank  expression  with  which 
he  had  left  the  room.  "  She  gave  me  the  dead 
freeze-out,"  he  muttered.  "  The  dead  freeze-out !  So 
she  knew  Davenport!  and  cared  for  the  poverty- 
stricken  dog,  too !  " 

Startled  by  a  ring  at  the  door-bell,  Bagley  turned 
into  the  common  drawing-room,  which  was  empty, 
to  fasten  his  gloves.  Unseen,  he  heard  Larcher 
admitted,  ushered  back  to  the  Kenby  apartment,  and 
welcomed  by  the  two  girls.  He  paced  the  drawing- 
room  floor,  with  a  wrathful  frown;  then  sat  down 
and  meditated. 

"  Well,  if  he  ever  does  come  back  to  New  York, 
I  won't  do  a  thing  to  him !  "  was  the  conclusion  of 
his  meditations,  after  some  minutes. 


MR.    TURL    WITH  HIS  BACK   TO    THE    WALL       22$ 

Some  one  came  down  the  stairs,  and  walked  back 
toward  the  Kenby  rooms.  Bagley  strode  to  the 
drawing-room  door,  and  peered  through  the  hall, 
in  time  to  catch  sight  of  the  tall,  erect  figure  of  a 
man.  This  man  knocked  at  the  Kenby  door,  and, 
being  bidden  to  enter,  passed  in  and  closed  it  after 
him. 

"  That  young  dude  Turl,"  mused  Bagley,  with 
scorn.  "  But  she  won't  freeze  him  out,  I'll  bet. 
I've  noticed  he  usually  gets  the  glad  hand,  com- 
pared to  what  I  get.  Davenport,  who  never  had 
a  thousand  dollars  of  his  own  at  a  time !  —  and  now 
this  light-weight !  —  compared  with  me!  —  I'd  give 
thirty  cents  to  know  what  sort  of  a  reception  this 
fellow  does  get." 

Meanwhile,  before  Turl's  arrival,  but  after 
Larcher's,  the  characteristics  of  Mr.  Bagley  had 
undergone  some  analysis  from  Edna  Hill. 

"  And  did  you  notice,"  said  that  young  lady,  in 
conclusion,  "  how  he  simply  couldn't  understand 
anybody's  being  interested  in  Davenport?  Because 
Davenport  was  a  poor  man,  who  never  went  in  for 
making  money.  Men  of  the  Bagley  sort  are  always 
puzzled  when  anybody  doesn't  jump  at  the  chance 
of  having  their  friendship.  It  staggers  their  intelli- 
gence to  see  impecunious  Davenports  —  and  Lar- 
chers  —  preferred  to  them." 


224       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Larcher.  "  I  didn't  know  you 
were  so  observant.  But  it's  easy  to  imagine  the 
reasoning  of  the  money-grinders  in  such  cases.  The 
satisfaction  of  money-greed  is  to  them  the  highest 
aim  in  life ;  so  what  can  be  more  admirable  or 
important  than  a  successful  exponent  of  that  aim? 
They  don't  perceive  that  they,  as  a  rule,  are  the 
dullest  of  society,  though  most  people  court  and 
flatter  them  on  account  of  their  money.  They 
never  guess  why  it's  almost  impossible  for  a  man 
to  be  a  money-grinder  and  good  company  at  the 
same  time." 

"  Why  is  it?  "  asked  Florence. 

"  Because  in  giving  himself  up  entirely  to  money- 
getting,  he  has  to  neglect  so  many  things  necessary 
to  make  a  man  attractive.  But  even  before  that,  the 
very  nature  that  made  him  choose  money-getting  as 
the  chief  end  of  man  was  incapable  of  the  finer 
qualities.  There  are  charming  rich  men,  but  either 
they  inherited  their  wealth,  or  made  it  in  some  high 
pursuit  to  which  gain  was  only  an  incident,  or  they 
are  exceptional  cases.  But  of  course  Bagley  isn't 
even  a  fair  type  of  the  regular  money-grinder  — 
he's  a  speculator  in  anything,  and  a  boor  compared 
with  even  the  average  financial  operator." 

This  sort  of  talk  helped  to  beguile  the  nerves  of 
the  three  young  people  while  they  waited  for  Turl 


MR.  TURL  WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL   22$ 

to  come.  But  as  the  hands  of  the  clock  neared  the 
appointed  minute,  Edna's  excitement  returned,  and 
Larcher  found  himself  becoming  fidgety.  What 
Florence  felt  could  not  be  divined,  as  she  sat  per- 
fectly motionless,  gazing  into  the  fire.  She  had 
merely  sent  up  a  request  to  know  if  Mr.  Turl  could 
call  at  half-past  eight,  and  had  promptly  received  the 
desired  answer. 

In  spite  of  Larcher's  best  efforts,  a  silence  fell, 
which  nobody  was  able  to  break  as  the  moment 
arrived,  and  so  it  lasted  till  steps  were  heard  in  the 
hall,  followed  by  a  gentle  rap  on  the  door.  Florence 
quickly  rose  and  opened.  Turl  entered,  with  his 
customary  subdued  smile. 

Before  he  had  time  to  notice  anything  unnatural 
in  the  greeting  of  Larcher  and  Miss  Hill,  Florence 
had  motioned  him  to  one  of  the  chairs  near  the  fire. 
It  was  the  chair  at  the  extreme  right  of  the  group,  so 
far  toward  a  recess  formed  by  the  piano  and  a  corner 
of  the  room  that,  when  the  others  had  resumed  their 
seats,  Turl  was  almost  hemmed  in  by  them  and 
the  piano.  Nearest  him  was  Florence,  next  whom 
sat  Edna,  while  Larcher  faced  him  from  the  other 
side  of  the  fireplace. 

The  silence  of  embarrassment  was  broken  by  the 
unsuspecting  visitor,  with  a  remark  about  the  storm. 


226       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Instead  of  answering  in  kind,  Florence,  with  her 
eyes  bearing  upon  his  face,  said  gravely : 

"  I  asked  you  here  to  speak  of  something  else  — 
a  matter  we  are  all  interested  in,  though  I  am  far 
more  interested  than  the  others.  I  want  to  know 
—  we  all  want  to  know  —  what  has  become  of 
Murray  Davenport." 

Turl's  face  blenched  ever  so  little,  but  he  made 
no  other  sign  of  being  startled.  For  some  seconds 
he  regarded  Florence  with  a  steady  inquiry;  then 
his  questioning  gaze  passed  to  Edna's  face  and 
Larcher's,  but  finally  returned  to  hers. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me?  "  he  said,  quietly.  "  What 
have  I  to  do  with  Murray  Davenport?  " 

Florence  turned  to  Larcher,  who  thereupon  put 
in,  almost  apologetically : 

"  You  were  in  correspondence  with  him  before 
his  disappearance,  for  one  thing." 

"Oh,  was  I?" 

"  Yes.  He  showed  me  a  letter  signed  by  you,  in 
your  handwriting.  It  was  about  a  meeting  you 
were  to  have  with  him." 

Turl  pondered,  till  Florence  resumed  the  attack. 

"  We  don't  pretend  to  know  where  that  particular 
meeting  occurred.  But  we  do  know  that  you  visited 
the  last  place  Murray  Davenport  was  traced  to  in 
New  York.  We  have  a  great  deal  of  evidence  con- 


MR.    TURL    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO    THE    WALL       22J 

necting  you  with  him  about  the  time  of  his  disap- 
pearance. We  have  so  much  that  there  would  be 
no  use  in  your  denying  that  you  had  some  part  in 
his  affairs." 

She  paused,  to  give  him  a  chance  to  speak.  But 
he  only  gazed  at  her  with  a  thoughtful,  regretful 
perplexity.  So  she  went  on  : 

"  We  don't  say  —  yet  —  whether  that  part  was 
friendly,  indifferent,  —  or  evil." 

The  last  word,  and  the  searching  look  that  accom- 
panied it,  drew  a  swift  though  quiet  answer : 

"  It  wasn't  evil,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Then  you  admit  you  did  have  a  part  in  his 
disappearance?  "  said  Larcher,  quickly. 

"  I  may  as  well.  Miss  Kenby  says  you  have  evi- 
dence of  it.  You  have  been  clever  —  or  I  have  been 
stupid.  —  I'm  sorry  Davenport  showed  you  my 
letter." 

"  Then,  as  your  part  was  not  evil,"  pursued  Flor- 
ence, with  ill-repressed  eagerness,  "  you  can't  object 
to  telling  us  about  him.  Where  is  he  now?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  do  object.  I  have  strong 
reasons.  You  must  excuse  me." 

"  We  will  not  excuse  you ! "  cried  Florence. 
"  We  have  the  right  to  know  —  the  right  of  friend- 
ship —  the  right  of  love.  I  insist.  I  will  not  take 
a  refusal." 


228       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Apprised,  by  her  earnestness,  of  the  determina- 
tion that  confronted  him,  Turl  reflected.  Plainly 
the  situation  was  a  most  unpleasant  one  to  him.  A 
brief  movement  showed  that  he  would  have  liked 
to  rise  and  pace  the  floor,  for  the  better  thinking  out 
of  the  question;  or  indeed  escape  from  the  room; 
but  the  impulse  was  checked  at  sight  of  the  obstacles 
to  his  passage.  Florence  gave  him  time  enough  to 
thresh  matters  out  in  his  mind.  He  brought  forth 
a  sigh  heavy  with  regret  and  discomfiture.  Then, 
at  last,  his  face  took  on  a  hardness  of  resolve  un- 
usual to  it,  and  he  spoke  in  a  tone  less  than  ordi- 
narily conciliating: 

"  I  have  nothing  now  to  do  with  Murray  Daven- 
port. I  am  in  no  way  accountable  for  his  actions 
or  for  anything  that  ever  befell  him.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  of  him.  He  has  disappeared,  we  shall  never 
see  him  again ;  he  was  an  unhappy  man,  an  unfortu- 
nate wretch ;  in  his  disappearance  there  was  nothing 
criminal,  or  guilty,  or  even  unkind,  on  anybody's 
part.  There  is  no  good  in  reviving  memories  of 
him;  let  him  be  forgotten,  as  he  desired  to  be.  I 
assure  you,  I  swear  to  you,  he  will  never  reappear, 
—  and  that  no  good  whatever  can  come  of  investi- 
gating his  disappearance.  Let  him  rest;  put  him 
out  of  your  mind,  and  turn  to  the  future." 


MR.  TURL  WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL   2  29 

To  his  resolved  tone,  Florence  replied  with  an 
outburst  of  passionate  menace: 

"  I  will  know  !  I'll  resort  to  anything,  everything, 
to  make  you  speak.  As  yet  we've  kept  our  evidence 
to  ourselves;  but  if  you  compel  us,  we  shall  know 
what  to  do  with  it." 

Turl  let  a  frown  of  vexation  appear.  "  I  admit, 
that  would  put  me  out.  It's  a  thing  I  would  go  far 
to  avoid.  Not  that  I  fear  the  law;  but  to  make 
matters  public  would  spoil  much.  And  I  wouldn't 
make  them  public,  except  in  self-defence  if  the  very 
worst  threatened  me.  I  don't  think  that  contingency 
is  to  be  feared.  Surmise  is  not  proof,  and  only  proof 
is  to  be  feared.  No;  I  don't  think  you  would  find 
the  law  able  to  make  me  speak.  Be  reconciled  to 
let  the  secret  remain  buried;  it  was  what  Murray 
Davenport  himself  desired  above  all  things." 

"  Who  authorized  you  to  tell  me  what  Murray 
Davenport  desired?  He  would  have  desired  what 
I  desire,  I  assure  you !  You  sha'n't  put  me  off  with 
a  quiet,  determined  manner.  We  shall  see  whether 
the  law  can  force  you  to  speak.  You  admit  you 
would  go  far  to  avoid  the  test." 

"  That's  because  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  involved 
in  a  raking  over  of  the  affairs  of  Murray  Davenport. 
To  me  it  would  be  an  unhappy  business,  I  do  admit. 
The  man  is  best  forgotten." 


230       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  I'll  not  have  you  speak  of  him  so!  I  love  him! 
and  I  hold  you  answerable  to  me  for  your  knowledge 
of  his  disappearance.  I'll  find  a  way  to  bring  you 
to  account !  " 

Her  tearful  vehemence  brought  a  wave  of  tender- 
ness to  his  face,  a  quiver  to  his  lips.  Noting  this, 
Larcher  quickly  intervened : 

"  In  pity  to  a  woman,  don't  you  think  you  ought 
to  tell  her  what  you  know?  If  there's  no  guilt  on 
your  part,  the  disclosure  can't  harm  you.  It  will 
end  her  suspense,  at  least.  She  will  be  always  un- 
happy till  she  knows." 

"  She  will  grow  out  of  that  feeling,"  said  Turl, 
still  watching  her  compassionately,  as  she  dried  her 
eyes  and  endeavored  to  regain  her  composure. 

"  No,  she  won't !  "  put  in  Edna  Hill,  warmly. 
"  You  don't  know  her.  I  must  say,  how  any  man 
with  a  spark  of  chivalry  can  sit  there  and  refuse 
to  divulge  a  few  facts  that  would  end  a  woman's 
torture  of  mind,  which  she's  been  undergoing  for 
months,  is  too  much  for  me!  " 

Turl,  in  manifest  perturbation,  still  gazed  at 
Florence.  She  fixed  her  eyes,  out  of  which  all  threat 
had  passed,  pleadingly  upon  him. 

"If  you  knew  what  it  meant  to  me  to  grant  your 
request,"  said  he,  "  you  wouldn't  make  it." 


MR.  TURL  WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL   231 

"  It  can't  mean  more  to  you  than  this  uncertainty, 
this  dark  mystery,  is  to  me,"  said  Florence,  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"  It  was  Davenport's  wish  that  the  matter  should 
remain  the  closest  secret.  You  don't  know  how 
earnestly  he  wished  that." 

"  Surely  Davenport's  wishes  can't  be  endangered 
through  my  knowledge  of  any  secret,"  Florence 
replied,  with  so  much  sad  affection  that  Turl  was 
again  visibly  moved.  "  But  for  the  misunderstand- 
ing which  kept  us  apart,  he  would  not  have  had 
this  secret  from  me.  And  to  think !  —  he  disap- 
peared the  very  day  Mr.  Larcher  was  to  enlighten 
him.  It  was  cruel !  And  now  you  would  keep  from 
me  the  knowledge  of  what  became  of  him.  I  have 
learned  too  well  that  fate  is  pitiless;  and  I  find 
that  men  are  no  less  so." 

Turl's  face  was  a  study,  showing  the  play  of 
various  reflections.  Finally  his  ideas  seemed  to  be 
resolved.  "  Are  we  likely  to  be  interrupted  here?  " 
he  asked,  in  a  tone  of  surrender. 

"No;  I  have  guarded  against  that,"  said  Flor- 
ence, eagerly. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  Davenport's  story.  But  you 
must  be  patient,  and  let  me  tell  it  in  my  own  way, 
and  you  must  promise  —  all  three  —  never  to  reveal 


232       THE  MYSTERY  OF  AW R RAY  DAVENPORT 

it;  you'll  find  no  reason  in  it  for  divulging  it,  and 
great  reason  for  keeping  it  secret." 

On  that  condition  the  promise  was  given,  and 
Turl,  having  taken  a  moment's  preliminary  thought, 
began  his  account. 


TURL,    HAVING    TAKEN    A    MOMENT'S    PRELIMINARY 
THOUGHT,    BEGAN    HIS    ACCOUNT  " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A   STRANGE   DESIGN 

"  PERHAPS,"  said  Turl,  addressing  particularly 
Florence,  "  you  know  already  what  was  Murray 
Davenport's  state  of  mind  during  the  months  im- 
mediately before  his  disappearance.  Bad  luck  was 
said  to  attend  him,  and  to  fall  on  enterprises  he 
became  associated  with.  Whatever  were  the  rea- 
sons, either  inseparable  from  him,  or  special  in  each 
case,  it's  certain  that  his  affairs  did  not  thrive,  with 
the  exception  of  those  in  which  he  played  the 
merely  mechanical  part  of  a  drudge  under  the  orders, 
and  for  the  profit,  of  Mr.  Bagley.  As  for  bad  luck, 
the  name  was,  in  effect,  equivalent  to  the  thing 
itself,  for  it  cut  him  out  of  many  opportunities  in 
the  theatrical  market,  with  people  not  above  the 
superstitions  of  their  guild;  also  it  produced  in 
him  a  discouragement,  a  self-depreciation,  which 
kept  the  quality  of  his  work  down  to  the  level  of 
hopeless  hackery.  For  yielding  to  this  influence; 
for  stooping,  in  his  necessity,  to  the  service  of  Bag- 
233 


234       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

ley,  who  had  wronged  him;  for  failing  to  find  a 
way  out  of  the  slough  of  mediocre  production,  poor 
pay,  and  company  inferior  to  him  in  mind,  he 
began  to  detest  himself. 

"  He  had  never  been  a  conceited  man,  but  he 
could  not  have  helped  measuring  his  taste  and  in- 
tellect with  those  of  average  people,  and  he  had 
valued  himself  accordingly.  Another  circumstance 
had  forced  him  to  think  well  of  himself.  On  his 
trip  to  Europe  he  had  met  —  I  needn't  say  more ; 
but  to  have  won  the  regard  of  a  woman  herself 
so  admirable  was  bound  to  elevate  him  in  his  own 
esteem.  This  event  in  his  life  had  roused  his  am- 
bition and  filled  him  with  hope.  It  had  made  him 
almost  forget,  or  rather  had  braced  him  to  battle 
confidently  with,  his  demon  of  reputed  bad  luck. 
You  can  imagine  the  effect  when  the  stimulus,  the 
cause  of  hope,  the  reas  jn  for  striving,  was  —  as  he 
believed  —  withdrawn  from  him.  He  assumed  that 
this  calamity  was  due  to  your  having  learned  about 
the  supposed  shadow  of  bad  luck,  or  at  least  about 
his  habitual  failure.  And  while  he  did  this  injustice 
to  you,  Miss  Kenby,  he  at  the  same  time  found  cause 
in  himself  for  your  apparent  desertion.  He  felt 
he  must  be  worthless  and  undeserving.  As  the  pain 
of  losing  you,  and  the  hope  that  went  with  you, 
was  the  keenest  pain,  the  most  staggering  humilia- 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  235 

tion,  he  had  ever  apparently  owed  to  his  unsuccess, 
his  evil  spirit  of  fancied  ill-luck,  and  his  personality 
itself,  he  now  saw  these  in  darker  colors  than  ever 
before;  he  contemplated  them  more  exclusively,  he 
brooded  on  them.  And  so  he  got  into  the  state  I 
just  now  described. 

"  He  was  dejected,  embittered,  wearied ;  sick  of 
his  way  of  livelihood,  sick  of  the  atmosphere  he 
moved  in,  sick  of  his  reflections,  sick  of  himself. 
Life  had  got  to  be  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable.  His 
self-loathing,  which  steadily  grew,  would  have  be- 
come a  maddening  torture  if  he  hadn't  found  refuge 
in  a  stony  apathy.  Sometimes  he  relieved  this  by  an 
outburst  of  bitter  or  satirical  self-exposure,  when 
the  mood  found  anybody  at  hand  for  his  confidences. 
But  for  the  most  part  he  lived  in  a  lethargic  indif- 
ference, mechanically  going  through  the  form  of 
earning  his  living. 

"  You  may  wonder  why  he  took  the  trouble  even 
to  go  through  that  form.  It  may  have  been  partly 
because  he  lacked  the  instinct  —  or  perhaps  the  in- 
itiative —  for  active  suicide,  and  was  too  proud  to 
starve  at  the  expense  or  encumbrance  of  other  peo- 
ple. But  there  was  another  cause,  which  of  itself 
sufficed  to  keep  him  going.  I  may  have  said  — 
or  given  the  impression  —  that  he  utterly  despaired 
of  ever  getting  anything  worth  having  out  of  life. 


236       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

And  so  he  would  have,  I  dare  say,  but  for  the  not- 
entirely-quenchable  spark  of  hope  which  youth  keeps 
in  reserve  somewhere,  and  which  in  his  case  had  one 
peculiar  thing  to  sustain  it. 

"  That  peculiar  thing,  on  which  his  spark  of  hope 
kept  alive,  though  its  existence  was  hardly  noticed 
by  the  man  himself,  was  a  certain  idea  which  he 
had  conceived,  —  he  no  longer  knew  when,  nor  in 
what  mental  circumstances.  It  was  an  idea  at  first 
vague;  relegated  to  the  cave  of  things  for  the  time 
forgotten,  to  be  occasionally  brought  forth  by  asso- 
ciation. Sought  or  unsought,  it  came  forth  with 
a  sudden  new  attractiveness  some  time  after  Murray 
Davenport's  life  and  self  had  grown  to  look  most 
dismal  in  his  eyes.  He  began  to  turn  it  about,  and 
develop  it.  He  was  doing  this,  all  the  while  fas- 
cinated by  the  idea,  at  the  time  of  Larcher's  acquaint- 
ance with  him,  but  doing  it  in  so  deep-down  a  region 
of  his  mind  that  no  one  would  have  suspected  what 
was  beneath  his  languid,  uncaring  manner.  He  was 
perfecting  his  idea,  which  he  had  adopted  as  a  de- 
sign of  action  for  himself  to  realize,  —  perfecting 
it  to  the  smallest  incidental  detail. 

"  This  is  what  he  had  conceived  :  Man,  as  every- 
body knows,  is  more  or  less  capable  of  voluntary 
self-illusion.  By  pretending  to  himself  to  believe 
that  a  thing  is  true  —  except  where  the  physical  con- 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  23? 

dition  is  concerned,  or  where  the  case  is  complicated 
by  other  people's  conduct  —  he  can  give  himself 
something  of  the  pleasurable  effect  that  would  arise 
from  its  really  being  true.  We  see  a  play,  and  for 
the  time  make  ourselves  believe  that  the  painted 
canvas  is  the  Forest  of  Arden,  that  the  painted  man 
is  Orlando,  and  the  painted  woman  Rosalind.  When 
we  read  Homer,  we  make  ourselves  believe  in  the 
Greek  heroes  and  gods.  We  know  these  make- 
believes  are  not  realities,  but  we  feel  that  they  are; 
we  have  the  sensations  that  would  be  effected  by 
their  reality.  Now  this  self-deception  can  be  carried 
to  great  lengths.  We  know  how  children  content 
themselves  with  imaginary  playmates  and  posses- 
sions. As  a  gift,  or  a  defect,  we  see  remarkable 
cases  of  willing  self-imposition.  A  man  will  tell 
a  false  tale  of  some  exploit  or  experience  of  his 
youth  until,  after  years,  he  can't  for  his  life  swear 
whether  it  really  occurred  or  not.  Many  people  in- 
vent whole  chapters  to  add  to  their  past  histories, 
and  come  finally  to  believe  them.  Even  where  the 
knowing  part  of  the  mind  doesn't  grant  belief,  the 
imagining  part  —  and  through  it  the  feeling  part  — 
does;  and,  as  conduct  and  mood  are  governed  by 
feeling,  the  effect  of  a  self-imposed  make-believe  on 
one's  behavior  and  disposition  —  on  one's  life,  in 
short  —  may  be  much  the  same  as  that  of  actuality. 


238       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

All  depends  on  the  completeness  and  constancy  with 
which  the  make-believe  is  supported. 

"  Well,  Davenport's  idea  was  to  invent  for  himself 
a  new  past  history ;  not  only  that,  but  a  new  iden- 
tity :  to  imagine  himself  another  man ;  and,  as  that 
man,  to  begin  life  anew.  As  he  should  imagine, 
so  he  would  feel  and  act,  and,  by  continuing  this 
course  indefinitely,  he  would  in  time  sufficiently  be- 
lieve himself  that  other  man.  To  all  intents  and 
purposes,  he  would  in  time  become  that  man.  Even 
though  at  the  bottom  of  his  mind  he  should  always 
be  formally  aware  of  the  facts,  yet  the  force  of  his 
imagination  and  feeling  would  in  time  be  so  potent 
that  the  man  he  coldly  knew  himself  to  be  —  the 
actual  Murray  Davenport  —  would  be  the  stranger, 
while  the  man  he  felt  himself  to  be  would  be  his 
more  intimate  self.  Needless  to  say,  this  new  self 
would  be  a  very  different  man  from  the  old  Murray 
Davenport.  His  purpose  was  to  get  far  away  from 
the  old  self,  the  old  recollections,  the  old  environ- 
ment, and  all  the  old  adverse  circumstances.  And 
this  is  what  his  mind  was  full  of  at  the  time  when 
you,  Larcher,  were  working  with  him. 

"  He  imagined  a  man  such  as  would  be  produced 
by  the  happiest  conditions;  one  of  those  fortunate 
fellows  who  seem  destined  for  easy,  pleasant  paths 
all  their  lives.  A  habitually  lucky  man,  in  short, 


A    STRANGE   DESIGN  239 

with  all  the  cheerfulness  and  urbanity  that  such  a 
man  ought  to  possess.  Davenport  believed  that  as 
such  a  man  he  would  at  least  not  be  handicapped  by 
the  name  or  suspicion  of  ill-luck. 

"  I  needn't  enumerate  the  details  with  which  he 
rounded  out  this  new  personality  he  meant  to  adopt. 
And  I'll  not  take  time  now  to  recite  the  history 
he  invented  to  endow  this  new  self  with.  You  may 
be  sure  he  made  it  as  happy  a  history  as  such  a 
man  would  wish  to  look  back  on.  One  circum- 
stance was  necessary  to  observe  in  its  construction. 
In  throwing  over  his  old  self,  he  must  throw  over 
all  its  acquaintances,  and  all  the  surroundings  with 
which  it  had  been  closely  intimate,  —  not  cities  and 
public  resorts,  of  course,  which  both  selves  might 
be  familiar  with,  but  rooms  he  had  lived  in,  and 
places  too  much  associated  with  the  old  identity 
of  Murray  Davenport.  Now  the  new  man  would 
naturally  have  made  many  acquaintances  in  the 
course  of  his  life.  He  would  know  people  in 
the  places  where  he  had  lived.  Would  he  not 
keep  up  friendships  with  some  of  these  people? 
Well,  Davenport  made  it  that  the  man  had  led  a 
shifting  life,  had  not  remained  long  enough  in  one 
spot  to  give  it  a  permanent  claim  upon  him.  The 
scenes  of  his  life  were  laid  in  places  which  Daven- 
port had  visited  but  briefly;  which  he  had  agree- 


240       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

able  recollections  of,  but  would  never  visit  again. 
All  this  was  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  a  too  definite 
localizing  of  the  man's  past,  and  the  difficulty  about 
old  friends  never  being  reencountered.  Henceforth, 
or  on  the  man's  beginning  to  have  a  real  existence 
in  the  body  of  Davenport,  more  lasting  associations 
and  friendships  could  be  formed,  and  these  could 
be  cherished  as  if  they  had  merely  supplanted 
former  ones,  until  in  time  a  good  number  could  be 
accumulated  for  the  memory  to  dwell  on. 

"  But  quite  as  necessary  as  providing  a  history 
and  associations  for  the  new  self,  it  was  to  banish 
those  of  the  old  self.  If  the  new  man  should  find 
himself  greeted  as  Murray  Davenport  by  somebody 
who  knew  the  latter,  a  rude  shock  would  be  adminis- 
tered to  the  self-delusion  so  carefully  cultivated. 
And  this  might  happen  at  any  time.  It  would  be 
easy  enough  to  avoid  the  old  Murray  Davenport's 
haunts,  but  he  might  go  very  far  and  still  be  in 
hourly  risk  of  running  against  one  of  the  old  Mur- 
ray Davenport's  acquaintances.  But  even  this  was 
a  small  matter  to  the  constant  certainty  of  his  being 
recognized  as  the  old  Murray  Davenport  by  him- 
self. Every  time  he  looked  into  a  mirror,  or  passed 
a  plate-glass  window,  there  would  be  the  old  face 
and  form  to  mock  his  attempt  at  mental  trans- 
formation with  the  reminder  of  his  physical  identity. 


A   STRANGE   DESIGN  24! 

Even  if  he  could  avoid  being  confronted  many  times 
a  day  by  the  reflected  face  of  Murray  Davenport, 
he  must  yet  be  continually  brought  back  to  his  in- 
separability from  that  person  by  the  familiar  effect 
of  the  face  on  the  glances  of  other  people,  —  for 
you  know  that  different  faces  evoke  different  looks 
from  observers,  and  the  look  that  one  man  is  ac- 
customed to  meet  in  the  eyes  of  people  who  notice 
him  is  not  precisely  the  same  as  that  another  man 
is  accustomed  to  meet  there.  To  come  to  the  point, 
Murray  Davenport  saw  that  to  make  his  change 
of  identity  really  successful,  to  avoid  a  thousand 
interruptions  to  his  self-delusion,  to  make  himself 
another  man  in  the  world's  eyes  and  his  own,  and 
all  the  more  so  in  his  own  through  rinding  himself 
so  in  the  world's,  he  must  transform  himself  phys- 
ically —  in  face  and  figure  —  beyond  the  recog- 
nition of  his  closest  friend  —  beyond  the  recogni- 
tion even  of  himself.  How  was  it  to  be  done? 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  mad  in  setting  himself 
at  once  to  solve  the  problem  as  if  its  solution  were 
a  matter  of  course  ?  Wait  and  see. 

"  In  the  old  fairy  tales,  such  transformations  were 
easily  accomplished  by  the  touch  of  a  wand  or  the 
incantation  of  a  wizard.  In  a  newer  sort  of  fairy 
tale,  we  have  seen  them  produced  by  marvellous 
drugs.  In  real  life  there  have  been  supposed 


242      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

changes  of  identity,  or  rather  cases  of  dual  identity, 
the  subject  alternating  from  one  to  another  as  he 
shifts  from  one  to  another  set  of  memories.  These 
shifts  are  not  voluntary,  nor  is  such  a  duality  of 
memory  and  habit  to  be  possessed  at  will.  As 
Davenport  wasn't  a  '  subject '  of  this  sort  by  caprice 
of  nature,  and  as,  even  if  he  had  been,  he  couldn't 
have  chosen  his  new  identity  to  suit  himself,  or  en- 
sured its  permanency,  he  had  to  resort  to  the  de- 
liberate exercise  of  imagination  and  wilful  self- 
deception  I  have  described.  Now  even  in  those 
cases  of  dual  personality,  though  there  is  doubtless 
some  change  in  facial  expression,  there  is  not  an 
actual  physical  transformation  such  as  Davenport's 
purpose  required.  As  he  had  to  use  deliberate 
means  to  work  the  mental  change,  so  he  must  do 
to  accomplish  the  physical  one.  He  must  resort 
to  that  which  in  real  life  takes  the  place  of  fairy 
wands,  the  magic  of  witches,  and  the  drugs  of 
romance,  —  he  must  employ  Science  and  the  phys- 
ical means  it  afforded. 

"Earlier  in  life  he  had  studied  medicine  and 
surgery.  Though  he  had  never  arrived  at  the  prac- 
tice of  these,  he  had  retained  a  scientific  interest 
in  them,  and  had  kept  fairly  well  informed  of  new 
experiments.  His  general  reading,  too,  had  been 
wide,  and  he  had  rambled  upon  many  curious  odds 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  243 

and  ends  of  information.  He  thus  knew  something 
of  methods  employed  by  criminals  to  alter  their 
facial  appearance  so  as  to  avoid  recognition:  not 
merely  such  obvious  and  unreliable  devices  as  rais- 
ing or  removing  beards,  changing  the  arrangement 
and  color  of  hair,  and  fattening  or  thinning  the  face 
by  dietary  means,  —  devices  that  won't  fool  a  close 
acquaintance  for  half  a  minute,  —  not  merely  these, 
but  the  practice  of  tampering  with  the  facial 
muscles  by  means  of  the  knife,  so  as  to  alter  the 
very  hang  of  the  face  itself.  There  is  in  particular 
a  certain  muscle,  the  cutting  of  which,  and  allowing 
the  skin  to  heal  over  the  wound,  makes  a  very  great 
alteration  of  outward  effect.  The  result  of  this 
operation,  however,  is  not  an  improvement  in  looks, 
and  as  Davenport's  object  was  to  fabricate  a  pleas- 
ant, attractive  countenance,  he  could  not  resort  to 
it  without  modifications,  and,  besides  that,  he  meant 
to  achieve  a  far  more  thorough  transformation  than 
it  would  produce.  But  the  knowledge  of  this  opera- 
tion was  something  to  start  with.  It  was  partly  to 
combat  such  devices  of  criminals,  that  Bertillon 
invented  his  celebrated  system  of  identification  by 
measurements.  A  slight  study  of  that  system  gave 
Davenport  valuable  hints.  He  was  reminded  by 
Bertillon's  own  words,  of  what  he  already  knew, 
that  the  skin  of  the  face  —  the  entire  skin  of  three 


244  "THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

layers,  that  is,  not  merely  the  outside  covering  — 
may  be  compared  to  a  curtain,  and  the  underly- 
ing muscles  to  the  cords  by  which  it  is  drawn 
aside.  The  constant  drawing  of  these  cords,  you 
know,  produces  in  time  the  facial  wrinkles,  always 
perpendicular  to  the  muscles  causing  them.  If  you 
sever  a  number  of  these  cords,  you  alter  the  entire 
drape  of  the  curtain.  It  was  for  Davenport  to 
learn  what  severances  would  produce,  not  the  dis- 
agreeable effect  of  the  operation  known  to  criminals, 
but  a  result  altogether  pleasing.  He  was  to  dis- 
cover and  perform  a  whole  complex  set  of  opera- 
tions instead  of  the  single  operation  of  the  criminals ; 
and  each  operation  must  be  of  a  delicacy  that  would 
ensure  the  desired  general  effect  of  all.  And 
this  would  be  but  a  small  part  of  his  task. 

"  He  was  aware  of  what  is  being  done  for  the 
improvement  of  badly-formed  noses,  crooked 
mouths,  and  such  defects,  by  what  its  practitioners 
call  '  plastic  surgery,'  or  '  facial '  or  '  feature  sur- 
gery.' From  the  '  beauty  shops,'  then,  as  the  news- 
papers call  them,  he  got  the  idea  of  changing  his 
nose  by  cutting  and  folding  back  the  skin,  surgically 
eliminating  the  hump,  and  rearranging  the  skin  over 
the  altered  bridge  so  as  to  produce  perfect  straight- 
ness  when  healed.  From  the  same  source  came  the 
hint  of  cutting  permanent  dimples  in  his  cheeks, 


A    STRANGE  DESIGN  245 

—  a  detail  that  fell  in  admirably  with  his  design 
of  an  agreeable  countenance.  The  dimples  would  be, 
in  fact,  but  skilfully  made  scars,  cut  so  as  to  last. 
What  are  commonly  known  as  scars,  if  artistically 
wrought,  could  be  made  to  serve  the  purpose,  too, 
of  slight  furrows  in  parts  of  the  face  where  such 
furrows  would  aid  his  plan,  —  at  the  ends  of 
his  lips,  for  instance,  where  a  quizzical  upturning 
of  the  corners  of  the  mouth  could  be  imitated  by 
means  of  them;  and  at  other  places  where  lines 
of  mirth  form  in  good-humored  faces.  Fortunately, 
his  own  face  was  free  from  wrinkles,  perhaps  be- 
cause of  the  indifference  his  melancholy  had  taken 
refuge  in.  It  was,  indeed,  a  good  face  to  build 
on,  as  actors  say  in  regard  to  make-up. 

"  But  changing  the  general  shape  of  the  face  — 
the  general  drape  of  the  curtain  —  and  the  form  of 
the  prominent  features,  would  not  begin  to  suffice 
for  the  complete  alteration  that  Davenport  intended. 
The  hair  arrangement,  the  arch  of  the  eyebrows, 
the  color  of  the  eyes,  the  complexion,  each  must 
play  its  part  in  the  business.  He  had  worn  his  hair 
rather  carelessly  over  his  forehead,  and  plentiful 
at  the  back  of  the  head  and  about  the  ears.  Its 
line  of  implantation  at  the  forehead  was  usually 
concealed  by  the  hair  itself.  By  brushing  it  well 
back,  and  having  it  cut  in  a  new  fashion,  he  could 


246       THE   MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

materially  change  the  appearance  of  his  forehead; 
and  by  keeping  it  closely  trimmed  behind,  he  could 
do  as  much  for  the  apparent  shape  of  his  head  at  the 
rear.  If  the  forehead  needed  still  more  change,  the 
line  of  implantation  could  be  altered  by  removing 
hairs  with  tweezers ;  and  the  same  painful  but 
possible  means  must  be  used  to  affect  the  curvature 
of  the  eyebrows.  By  removing  hairs  from  the  tops 
of  the  ends,  and  from  the  bottom  of  the  middle, 
he  would  be  able  to  raise  the  arch  of  each  eyebrow 
noticeably.  This  removal,  along  with  the  clearing 
of  hair  from  the  forehead,  and  thinning  the  eye- 
lashes by  plucking  out,  would  contribute  to  another 
desirable  effect.  Davenport's  eyes  were  what  are 
commonly  called  gray.  In  the  course  of  his  study 
of  Bertillon,  he  came  upon  the  reminder  that  — 
to  use  the  Frenchman's  own  words  —  '  the  gray  eye 
of  the  average  person  is  generally  only  a  blue  one 
with  a  more  or  less  yellowish  tinge,  which  appears 
gray  solely  on  account  of  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
eyebrows,  etc.'  Now,  the  thinning  of  the  eyebrows 
and  lashes,  and  the  clearing  of  the  forehead  of 
its  hanging  locks,  must  considerably  decrease  that 
shadow.  The  resultant  change  in  the  apparent  hue 
of  the  eyes  would  be  helped  by  something  else,  which 
I  shall  come  to  later.  The  use  of  the  tweezers  on 
the  eyebrows  was  doubly  important,  for,  as  Ber- 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  247 

tillon  says,  '  no  part  of  the  face  contributes  a  more 
important  share  to  the  general  expression  of  the 
physiognomy,  seen  from  in  front,  than  the  eyebrow.' 
The  complexion  would  be  easy  to  deal  with.  His 
way  of  life  —  midnight  hours,  abstemiousness,  lan- 
guid habits  —  had  produced  bloodless  cheeks.  A 
summary  dosing  with  tonic  drugs,  particularly  with 
iron,  and  a  reformation  of  diet,  would  soon  bestow 
a  healthy  tinge,  which  exercise,  air,  proper  food,  and 
rational  living  would  not  only  preserve  but  intensify. 
"  But  merely  changing  the  face,  and  the  apparent 
shape  of  the  head,  would  not  do.  As  long  as  his 
bodily  form,  walk,  attitude,  carriage  of  the  head, 
remained  the  same,  so  would  his  general  appearance 
at  a  distance  or  when  seen  from  behind.  In  that 
case  he  would  not  be  secure  against  the  disillusion- 
ing shock  of  self-recognition  on  seeing  his  body 
reflected  in  some  distant  glass ;  or  of  being  greeted 
as  Murray  Davenport  by  some  former  acquaintance 
coming  up  behind  him.  His  secret  itself  might  be 
endangered,  if  some  particularly  curious  and  dis- 
cerning person  should  go  in  for  solving  the  problem 
of  this  bodily  resemblance  to  Murray  Davenport  in 
a  man  facially  dissimilar.  The  change  in  bodily 
appearance,  gait,  and  so  forth,  would  be  as  simple 
to  effect  as  it  was  necessary.  Hitherto  he  had  leaned 
forward  a  little,  and  walked  rather  loosely.  A  pair 


248      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of  the  strongest  shoulder-braces  would  draw  back 
his  shoulders,  give  him  tightness  and  straightness, 
increase  the  apparent  width  of  his  frame,  alter  the 
swing  of  his  arms,  and  entail  —  without  effort  on 
his  part  —  a  change  in  his  attitude  when  standing, 
his  gait  in  walking,  his  way  of  placing  his  feet  and 
holding  his  head  at  all  times.  The  consequent 
throwing  back  of  the  head  would  be  a  factor  in 
the  facial  alteration,  too :  it  would  further  decrease 
the  shadow  on  the  eyes,  and  consequently  further 
affect  their  color.  And  not  only  that,  for  you  must 
have  noticed  the  great  difference  in  appearance  in 
a  face  as  it  is  inclined  forward  or  thrown  back,  — 
as  one  looks  down  along  it,  or  up  along  it.  This 
accounts  for  the  failure  of  so  many  photographs 
to  look  like  the  people  they're  taken  of,  —  a  stupid 
photographer  makes  people  hold  up  their  faces,  to 
get  a  stronger  light,  who  are  accustomed  ordinarily 
to  carry  their  faces  slightly  averted. 

"  You  understand,  of  course,  that  only  his  entire 
appearance  would  have  to  be  changed;  not  any  of 
his  measurements.  His  friends  must  be  unable 
to  recognize  him,  even  vaguely  as  resembling  some 
one  they  couldn't  '  place.'  But  there  was,  of  course, 
no  anthropometric  record  of  him  in  existence,  such 
as  is  taken  of  criminals  to  ensure  their  identification 
by  the  Bertillon  system ;  so  his  measurements  could 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  249 

remain  unaffected  without  the  least  harm  to  his 
plan.  Neither  would  he  have  to  do  anything  to 
his  hands ;  it  is  remarkable  how  small  an  impression 
the  members  of  the  body  make  on  the  memory. 
This  is  shown  over  and  over  again  in  attempts  to 
identify  bodies  injured  so  that  recognition  by  the 
face  is  impossible.  Apart  from  the  face,  it's  only 
the  effect  of  the  whole  body,  and  that  rather  in  atti- 
tude and  gait  than  in  shape,  which  suggests  the 
identity  to  the  observer's  eye;  and  of  course  the 
suggestion  stops  there  if  not  borne  out  by  the  face. 
But  if  Davenport's  hands  might  go  unchanged,  he 
decided  that  his  handwriting  should  not.  It  was 
a  slovenly,  scratchy  degeneration  of  the  once  popular 
Italian  script,  and  out  of  keeping  with  the  new 
character  he  was  to  possess.  The  round,  erect  Eng- 
lish calligraphy  taught  in  most  primary  schools 
is  easily  picked  up  at  any  age,  with  a  little  care 
and  practice;  so  he  chose  that,  and  found  that  by 
writing  small  he  could  soon  acquire  an  even,  elegant 
hand.  He  would  need  only  to  go  carefully  until 
habituated  to  the  new  style,  with  which  he  might 
defy  even  the  handwriting  experts,  for  it's  a  maxim 
of  theirs  that  a  man  who  would  disguise  his  hand- 
writing always  tries  to  make  it  look  like  that  of 
an  uneducated  person. 

"  There  would  still  remain  the  voice  to  be  made 


250       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

over,  —  quite  as  important  a  matter  as  the  face.  In 
fact,  the  voice  will  often  contradict  an  identifica- 
tion which  the  eyes  would  swear  to,  in  cases  of 
remarkable  resemblance;  or  it  will  reveal  an  iden- 
tity which  some  eyes  would  fail  to  notice,  where 
time  has  changed  appearances.  Thanks  to  some 
out-of-the-way  knowledge  Davenport  had  picked  up 
in  the  theoretic  study  of  music  and  elocution,  he  felt 
confident  to  deal  with  the  voice  difficulty.  I'll  come 
to  that  later,  when  I  arrive  at  the  performance  of 
all  these  operations  which  he  was  studying  out; 
for  of  course  he  didn't  make  the  slightest  beginning 
on  the  actual  transformation  until  his  plan  was  com- 
plete and  every  facility  offered.  That  was  not  till 
the  last  night  you  saw  him,  Larcher,  —  the  night 
before  his  disappearance. 

"  For  operations  so  delicate,  meant  to  be  so  last- 
ing in  their  effect,  so  important  to  the  welfare  of 
his  new  self,  Davenport  saw  the  necessity  of  a 
perfect  design  before  the  first  actual  touch.  He 
could  not  erase  errors,  or  paint  them  over,  as  an 
artist  does.  He  couldn't  rub  out  misplaced  lines 
and  try  again,  as  an  actor  can  in  '  making  up.'  He 
had  learned  a  good  deal  about  theatrical  make-up, 
by  the  way,  in  his  contact  with  the  stage.  His  plan 
was  to  use  first  the  materials  employed  by  actors, 
until  he  should  succeed  in  producing  a  countenance 


A   STRANGE  DESIGN  2$l 

to  his  liking;  and  then,  by  surgical  means,  to  make 
real  and  permanent  the  sham  and  transient  effects 
of  paint-stick  and  pencil.  He  would  violently  com- 
pel nature  to  register  the  disguise  and  maintain  it. 

"  He  was  favored  in  one  essential  matter  —  that 
of  a  place  in  which  to  perform  his  operations  with 
secrecy,  and  to  let  the  wounds  heal  at  leisure.  To 
be  observed  during  the  progress  of  the  transforma- 
tion would  spoil  his  purpose  and  be  highly  incon- 
venient besides.  He  couldn't  lock  himself  up  in 
his  room,  or  in  any  new  lodging  to  which  he  might 
move,  and  remain  unseen  for  weeks,  without  attract- 
ing an  attention  that  would  probably  discover  his 
secret.  In  a  remote  country  place  he  would  be  more 
under  curiosity  and  suspicion  than  in  New  York. 
He  must  live  in  comfort,  in  quarters  which  he  could 
provision ;  must  have  the  use  of  mirrors,  heat,  water, 
and  such  things;  in  short,  he  could  not  resort  to 
uninhabited  solitudes,  yet  must  have  a  place  where 
his  presence  might  be  unknown  to  a  living  soul  — 
a  place  he  could  enter  and  leave  with  absolute 
secrecy.  He  couldn't  rent  a  place  without  preclud- 
ing that  secrecy,  as  investigations  would  be  made  on 
his  disappearance,  and  his  plans  possibly  ruined  by 
the  intrusion  of  the  police.  It  was  a  lucky  cir- 
cumstance which  he  owed  to  you,  Larcher,  —  one 
of  the  few  lucky  circumstances  that  ever  came  to  the 


252       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

old  Murray  Davenport,  and  so  to  be  regarded  as 
a  happy  augury  for  his  design,  —  that  led  him  into 
the  room  and  esteem  of  Mr.  Bud  down  on  the 
water-front. 

"  He  learned  that  Mr.  Bud  was  long  absent  from 
the  room;  obtained  his  permission  to  use  the  room 
for  making  sketches  of  the  river  during  his  ab- 
sence ;  got  a  duplicate  key ;  and  waited  until  Mr. 
Bud  should  be  kept  away  in  the  country  for  a  long 
enough  period.  Nobody  but  Mr.  Bud  —  and  you, 
Larcher  —  knew  that  Davenport  had  access  to  the 
room.  Neither  of  you  two  could  ever  be  sure  when, 
or  if  at  all,  he  availed  himself  of  that  access.  If 
he  left  no  traces  in  the  room,  you  couldn't  know  he 
had  been  there.  You  could  surmise,  and  might 
investigate,  but,  if  you  did  that,  it  wouldn't  be  with 
the  knowledge  of  the  police;  and  at  the  worst, 
Davenport  could  take  you  into  his  confidence.  As 
for  the  rest  of  the  world,  nothing  whatever  existed, 
or  should  exist,  to  connect  him  with  that  room. 
He  need  only  wait  for  his  opportunity.  He  con- 
trived always  to  be  informed  of  Mr.  Bud's  inten- 
tions for  the  immediate  future;  and  at  last  he 
learned  that  the  shipment  of  turkeys  for  Thanks- 
giving and  Christmas  would  keep  the  old  man  busy 
in  the  country  for  six  or  seven  weeks  without  a 
break.  He  was  now  all  ready  to  put  his  design 
into  execution. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

TURI/S    NARRATIVE    CONTINUED 

"  ON  the  very  afternoon,"  Turl  went  on,  "  before 
the  day  when  Davenport  could  have  Mr.  Bud's 
room  to  himself,  Bagley  sent  for  him  in  order  to 
confide  some  business  to  his  charge.  This  was  a 
customary  occurrence,  and,  rather  than  seem  to  act 
unusually  just  at  that  time,  Davenport  went  and 
received  Bagley's  instructions.  With  them,  he  re- 
ceived a  lot  of  money,  in  bills  of  large  denomina- 
tion, mostly  five-hundreds,  to  be  placed  the  next  day 
for  Bagley's  use.  In  accepting  this  charge,  or 
rather  in  passively  letting  it  fall  upon  him,  Daven- 
port had  no  distinct  idea  as  to  whether  he  would 
carry  it  out.  He  had  indeed  little  thought  that 
evening  of  anything  but  his  purpose,  which  he  was 
to  begin  executing  on  the  morrow.  As  not  an  hour 
was  to  be  lost,  on  account  of  the  time  necessary  for 
the  healing  of  the  operations,  he  would  either  have 
to  despatch  Bagley's  business  very  quickly  or 
neglect  it  altogether.  In  the  latter  case,  what  about 
253 


254      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

the  money  in  his  hands?  The  sum  was  nearly 
equal  to  that  which  Bagley  had  morally  defrauded 
him  of. 

"  This  coincidence,  coming  at  that  moment, 
seemed  like  the  work  of  fate.  Bagley  was  to  be 
absent  from  town  a  week,  and  Murray  Davenport 
was  about  to  undergo  a  metamorphosis  that  would 
make  detection  impossible.  It  really  appeared  as 
though  destiny  had  gone  in  for  an  act  of  poetic 
justice ;  had  deliberately  planned  a  restitution ;  had 
determined  to  befriend  the  new  man  as  it  had 
afflicted  the  old.  For  the  new  man  would  have  to 
begin  existence  with  a  very  small  cash  balance, 
unless  he  accepted  this  donation  from  chance.  If 
there  were  any  wrong  in  accepting  it,  that  wrong 
would  not  be  the  new  man's;  it  would  be  the 
bygone  Murray  Davenport's ;  but  Murray  Daven- 
port was  morally  entitled  to  that  much  —  and  more 
—  of  Bagley's  money.  To  be  sure,  there  was  the 
question  of  breach  of  trust;  but  Bagley's  conduct 
had  been  a  breach  of  friendship  and  common  hu- 
manity. Bagley's  act  had  despoiled  Davenport's 
life  of  a  hundred  times  more  than  this  sum  now 
represented  to  Bagley. 

"  Well,  Davenport  was  pondering  this  on  his 
way  home  from  Bagley's  rooms,  when  he  met  Lar- 
cher.  Partly  a  kind  feeling  toward  a  friend  he 


TURUS  NARRATIVE    CONTINUED  2$$ 

was  about  to  lose  with  the  rest  of  his  old  life,  partly 
a  thought  of  submitting  the  question  of  this  pos- 
sible restitution  to  a  less  interested  mind,  made  him 
invite  Larcher  to  his  room.  There,  by  a  pretended 
accident,  he  contrived  to  introduce  the  question  of 
the  money;  but  you  had  no  light  to  volunteer  on 
the  subject,  Larcher,  and  Davenport  didn't  see  fit 
to  press  you.  As  for  your  knowing  him  to  have 
the  money  in  his  possession,  and  your  eventual  in- 
ferences if  he  should  disappear  without  using  it 
for  Bagley,  the  fact  would  come  out  anyhow  as 
soon  as  Bagley  returned  to  New  York.  And  what- 
ever you  would  think,  either  in  condemnation  or 
justification,  would  be  thought  of  the  old  Murray 
Davenport.  It  wouldn't  matter  to  the  new  man. 
During  that  last  talk  with  you,  Davenport  had  such 
an  impulse  of  communicativeness  —  such  a  desire 
for  a  moment's  relief  from  his  long-maintained 
secrecy  —  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  confiding 
his  project  to  you,  under  bond  of  silence.  But  he 
mastered  the  impulse;  and  you  had  no  sooner  gone 
than  he  made  his  final  preparations. 

"  He  left  the  house  next  morning  immediately 
after  breakfast,  with  as  few  belongings  as  possible. 
He  didn't  even  wear  an  overcoat.  Besides  the  Bag- 
ley  money,  he  had  a  considerable  sum  of  his  own, 
mostly  the  result  of  his  collaboration  with  you,  Lar- 


256       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

cher.  In  a  paper  parcel,  he  carried  a  few  instru- 
ments from  those  he  had  kept  since  his  surgical 
days,  a  set  of  shaving  materials,  and  same  theatrical 
make-up  pencils  he  had  bought  the  day  before.  He 
was  satisfied  to  leave  his  other  possessions  to  their 
fate.  He  paid  his  landlady  in  advance  to  a  time  by 
which  she  couldn't  help  feeling  that  he  was  gone 
for  good ;  she  would  provide  for  a  new  tenant 
accordingly,  and  so  nobody  would  be  a  loser  by 
his  act. 

"  He  went  first  to  a  drug-store,  and  supplied 
himself  with  medicines  of  tonic  and  nutritive  effect, 
as  well  as  with  antiseptic  and  healing  preparations, 
lint,  and  so  forth.  These  he  had  wrapped  with  his 
parcel.  His  reason  for  having  things  done  up  in 
stout  paper,  and  not  packed  as  for  travelling,  was 
that  the  paper  could  be  easily  burned  afterward, 
whereas  a  trunk,  boxes,  or  gripsacks  would  be  more 
difficult  to  put  out  of  sight.  Everything  he  bought 
that  day,  therefore,  was  put  into  wrapping-paper. 
His  second  visit  was  to  a  department  store,  where 
he  got  the  linen  and  other  articles  he  would  need 
during  his  seclusion,  —  sheets,  towels,  handkerchiefs, 
pajamas,  articles  of  toilet,  and  so  forth.  He  pro- 
vided himself  here  with  a  complete  ready-made  '  out- 
fit '  to  appear  in  immediately  after  his  transforma- 
tion, until  he  could  be  supplied  by  regular  tailors, 


TURUS  NARRATIVE   CONTINUED  2$? 

haberdashers,  and  the  rest.  It  included  a  hat,  shoes, 
everything,  —  particularly  shoulder  braces ;  he  put 
those  on  when  he  came  to  be  fitted  with  the  suit 
and  overcoat.  Of  course,  nothing  of  the  old  Daven- 
port's was  to  emerge  with  the  new  man. 

"  Well,  he  left  his  purchases  to  be  called  for. 
His  paper  parcel,  containing  the  instruments,  drugs, 
and  so  forth,  he  thought  best  to  cling  to.  From 
the  department  store  he  went  to  some  other  shops 
in  the  neighborhood  and  bought  various  necessaries 
which  he  stowed  in  his  pockets.  While  he  was 
eating  luncheon,  he  thought  over  the  matter  of 
the  money  again,  but  came  to  no  decision,  though 
the  time  for  placing  the  funds  as  Bagley  had 
directed  was  rapidly  going  by,  and  the  bills  them- 
selves were  still  in  Davenport's  inside  coat  pocket. 
His  next  important  call  was  at  one  of  Clark  & 
Rexford's  grocery  stores.  He  had  got  up  most 
carefully  his  order  for  provisions,  and  it  took  a 
large  part  of  the  afternoon  to  fill.  The  salesmen 
were  under  the  impression  that  he  was  buying  for 
a  yacht,  a  belief  which  he  didn't  disturb.  His  par- 
cels here  made  a  good-sized  pyramid.  Before  they 
were  all  wrapped,  he  went  out,  hailed  the  shabbiest- 
looking  four-wheeled  cab  in  sight,  and  was  driven 
to  the  department  store.  The  things  he  had  bought 
there  were  put  on  the  cab  seat  beside  the  driver. 


258       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

He  drove  to  the  grocery  store,  and  had  his  parcels 
from  there  stowed  inside  the  cab,  which  they  almost 
filled  up.  But  he  managed  to  make  room  for  him- 
self, and  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  and  along 
South  Street  until  told  to  stop.  It  was  now  quite 
dark,  and  he  thought  the  driver  might  retain  a 
less  accurate  memory  of  the  exact  place  if  the  num- 
ber wasn't  impressed  on  his  mind  by  being  men- 
tioned and  looked  for. 

"  However  that  may  have  been,  the  cab  arrived 
at  a  fortunate  moment,  when  Mr.  Bud's  part  of  the 
street  was  deserted,  and  the  driver  showed  no  great 
interest  in  the  locality,  —  it  was  a  cold  night,  and 
he  was  doubtless  thinking  of  his  dinner.  Daven- 
port made  quick  work  of  conveying  his  parcels  into 
the  open  hallway  of  Mr.  Bud's  lodging-house,  and 
paying  the  cabman.  As  soon  as  the  fellow  had 
driven  off,  Davenport  began  moving  his  things  up 
to  Mr.  Bud's  room.  When  he  had  got  them  all 
safe,  the  door  locked,  and  the  gas-stove  lighted, 
he  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  his  eye  fell  on  Bagley's 
money,  crowding  his  pocket.  It  was  too  late  now 
to  use  it  as  Bagley  had  ordered.  Davenport  won- 
dered what  he  would  do  with  it,  but  postponed  the 
problem ;  he  thrust  the  package  of  bills  out  of  view, 
behind  the  books  on  Mr.  Bud's  shelf,  and  turned  to 
the  business  he  had  come  for.  No  one  had  seen 


TURKS  NARRATIVE    CONTINUED  259 

him  take  possession  of  the  room;  no  eye  but  the 
cabman's  had  followed  him  to  the  hallway  below, 
and  the  cabman  would  probably  think  he  was  merely 
housing  his  goods  there  till  he  should  go  aboard 
some  vessel  in  the  morning. 

"  A  very  short  time  would  be  employed  in  the 
operations  themselves.  It  was  the  healing  of  the 
necessary  cuts  that  would  take  weeks.  The  room 
was  well  enough  equipped  for  habitation.  Daven- 
port himself  had  caused  the  gas-stove  to  be  put  in, 
ostensibly  as  a  present  for  Mr.  Bud.  To  keep  the 
coal-stove  in  fuel,  without  betraying  himself,  would 
have  been  too  great  a  problem.  As  for  the  gas- 
stove,  he  had  placed  it  so  that  its  light  couldn't 
reach  the  door,  which  had  no  transom  and  possessed 
a  shield  for  the  keyhole.  For  water,  he  need  only 
go  to  the  rear  of  the  hall,  to  a  bath-room,  of  which 
Mr.  Bud  kept  a  key  hung  up  in  his  own  apartment. 
During  his  secret  residence  in  the  house,  Daven- 
port visited  the  bath-room  only  at  night,  taking  a 
day's  supply  of  water  at  a  time.  He  had  first  been 
puzzled  by  the  laundry  problem,  but  it  proved  very 
simple.  His  costume  during  his  time  of  conceal- 
ment was  limited  to  pajamas  and  slippers.  Of  hand- 
kerchiefs he  had  provided  a  large  stock.  When  the 
towels  and  other  articles  did  require  laundering,  he 
managed  it  in  a  wash-basin.  On  the  first  night,  he 


260      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

only  unpacked  and  arranged  his  things,  and  slept. 
At  daylight  he  sat  down  before  a  mirror,  and  began 
to  design  his  new  physiognomy  with  the  make-up 
pencils.  By  noon  he  was  ready  to  lay  aside  the 
pencils  and  substitute  instruments  of  more  lasting 
effect.  Don't  fear,  Miss  Hill,  that  I'm  going  to 
describe  his  operations  in  detail.  I'll  pass  them  over 
entirely,  merely  saying  that  after  two  days  of  work 
he  was  elated  with  the  results  he  could  already  fore- 
see upon  the  healing  of  the  cuts.  Such  pain  as 
there  was,  he  had  braced  himself  to  endure.  The 
worst  of  it  came  when  he  exchanged  knives  for 
tweezers,  and  attacked  his  eyebrows.  This  was 
really  a  tedious  business,  and  he  was  glad  to  find 
that  he  could  produce  a  sufficient  increase  of  curve 
without  going  the  full  length  of  his  design.  In 
his  necessary  intervals  of  rest,  he  practised  the  new 
handwriting.  He  was  most  regular  in  his  diet, 
sleep,  and  use  of  medicines.  After  a  few  days,  he 
had  nothing  left  to  do,  as  far  as  the  facial  opera- 
tions were  concerned,  but  attend  to  their  healing. 
He  then  began  to  wear  the  shoulder-braces,  and  took 
up  the  matter  of  voice. 

"  But  meanwhile,  in  the  midst  of  his  work  one 
day,  —  his  second  day  of  concealment,  it  was, — 
he  had  a  little  experience  that  produced  quite  as 
disturbing  a  sensation  in  him  as  Robinson  Crusoe 


TURKS  NARRATIVE   CONTINUED  26 1 

felt  when  he  came  across  the  footprints.  While 
he  was  busy  in  front  of  his  mirror,  in  the  afternoon, 
he  heard  steps  on  the  stairs  outside.  He  waited 
for  them,  as  usual,  to  pass  his  door  and  go  on, 
as  happened  when  lodgers  went  in  and  out.  But 
these  steps  halted  at  his  own  door,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  knock.  He  held  his  breath.  The  knock 
was  repeated,  and  he  began  to  fear  the  knocker 
would  persist  indefinitely.  But  at  last  the  steps 
were  heard  again,  this  time  moving  away.  He  then 
thought  he  recognized  them  as  yours,  Larcher,  and 
he  was  dreadfully  afraid  for  the  next  few  days  that 
they  might  come  again.  But  his  feeling  of  security 
gradually  returned.  Later,  in  the  weeks  of  his  se- 
questration in  that  room,  he  had  many  little  alarms 
at  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  pas- 
sages, as  people  went  to  and  from  the  rooms  above. 
This  was  particularly  the  case  after  he  had  begun 
the  practice  of  his  new  voice,  for,  though  the  sound 
he  made  was  low,  it  might  have  been  audible  to 
a  person  just  outside  his  door.  But  he  kept  his 
ear  alert,  and  the  voice-practice  was  shut  off  at 
the  slightest  intimation  of  a  step  on  the  stairs. 

"  The  sound  of  his  voice-practice  probably  could 
not  have  been  heard  many  feet  from  his  door,  or  at 
all  through  the  wall,  floor,  or  ceiling.  If  it  had 
been,  it  would  perhaps  have  seemed  a  low,  monot- 


262       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

onous,  continuous  sort  of  growl,  difficult  to  place  or 
identify. 

"  You  know  most  speaking  voices  are  of  greater 
potential  range  than  their  possessors  show  in  the 
use  of  them.  This  is  particularly  true  of  American 
voices.  There  are  exceptions  enough,  but  as  a 
nation,  men  and  women,  we  speak  higher  than  we 
need  to;  that  is,  we  use  only  the  upper  and  middle 
notes,  and  neglect  the  lower  ones.  No  matter  how 
good  a  man's  voice  is  naturally  in  the  low  register, 
the  temptation  of  example  in  most  cases  is  to  glide 
into  the  national  twang.  To  a  certain  extent,  Dav- 
enport had  done  this.  But,  through  his  practice 
of  singing,  as  well  as  of  reading  verse  aloud  for 
his  own  pleasure,  he  knew  that  his  lower  voice 
was,  in  the  slang  phrase,  '  all  there.'  He  knew,  also, 
of  a  somewhat  curious  way  of  bringing  the  lower 
voice  into  predominance;  of  making  it  become  the 
habitual  voice,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  higher  tones. 
Of  course  one  can  do  this  in  time  by  studied  prac- 
tice, but  the  constant  watchfulness  is  irksome  and 
may  lapse  at  any  moment.  The  thing  was,  to  do  it 
once  and  for  all,  so  that  the  quick  unconscious 
response  to  the  mind's  order  to  speak  would  be  from 
the  lower  voice  and  no  other.  Davenport  took  Mr. 
Bud's  dictionary,  opened  it  at  U,  and  recited  one 
after  another  all  the  words  beginning  with  that 


TURVS  NARRATIVE   CONTINUED  263 

letter  as  pronounced  in  'under.'  This  he  did 
through  the  whole  list,  again  and  again,  hour  after 
hour,  monotonously,  in  the  lower  register  of  his 
voice.  He  went  through  this  practice  every  day, 
with  the  result  that  his  deeper  notes  were  brought 
into  such  activity  as  to  make  them  supplant  the 
higher  voice  entirely.  Pronunciation  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  voice  effect,  and,  besides,  his  com- 
plete transformation  required  some  change  in  that 
on  its  own  account.  This  was  easy,  as  Davenport 
had  always  possessed  the  gift  of  imitating  dialects, 
foreign  accents,  and  diverse  ways  of  speech.  Earlier 
in  life  he  had  naturally  used  the  pronunciation  of 
refined  New  Englanders,  which  is  somewhat  like 
that  of  the  educated  English.  In  New  York,  in 
his  association  with  people  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  he  had  lapsed  into  the  slovenly  pronuncia- 
tion which  is  our  national  disgrace.  He  had  only 
to  return  to  the  earlier  habit,  and  be  as  strict  in  ad- 
hering to  it  as  in  other  details  of  the  well-ordered 
life  his  new  self  was  to  lead. 

"  As  I  said,  he  was  provided  with  shaving  ma- 
terials. But  he  couldn't  cut  his  own  hair  in  the 
new  way  he  had  decided  on.  He  had  had  it  cut  in 
the  old  fashion  a  few  days  before  going  into  retire- 
ment, but  toward  the  end  of  that  retirement  it  had 
grown  beyond  its  usual  length.  All  he  could  do 


264      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

about  it  was  to  place  himself  between  two  mirrors, 
and  trim  the  longest  locks.  Fortunately,  he  had 
plenty  of  time  for  this  operation.  After  the  first 
two  or  three  weeks,  his  wounds  required  very  little 
attention  each  day.  His  vocal  and  handwriting  ex- 
ercises weren't  to  be  carried  to  excess,  and  so  he  had 
a  good  deal  of  time  on  his  hands.  Some  of  this,  after 
his  face  was  sufficiently  toward  healing,  he  spent 
in  physical  exercise,  using  chairs  and  other  objects 
in  place  of  the  ordinary  calisthenic  implements. 
He  was  very  leisurely  in  taking  his  meals,  and  gave 
the  utmost  care  to  their  composition  from  the  pre- 
served foods  at  his  disposal.  He  slept  from  night- 
fall till  dawn,  and  consequently  needed  no  artificial 
light.  For  pure  air,  he  kept  a  window  open  all 
night,  being  well  wrapped  up,  but  in  the  daytime 
he  didn't  risk  leaving  open  more  than  the  cracks 
above  and  below  the  sashes,  for  fear  some  observant 
person  might  suspect  a  lodger  in  the  room.  Some- 
times he  read,  renewing  an  acquaintance  which  the 
new  man  he  was  beginning  to  be  must  naturally 
have  made,  in  earlier  days,  with  Scott's  novels.  He 
had  necessarily  designed  that  the  new  man  should 
possess  the  same  literature  and  general  knowledge 
as  the  bygone  Davenport  had  possessed.  For  al- 
ready, as  soon  as  the  general  effect  of  the  operations 
began  to  emerge  from  bandages  and  temporary  dis- 


TURVS  NARRATIVE   CONTINUED  26$ 

coloration,  he  had  begun  to  consider  Davenport 
as  bygone,  —  as  a  man  who  had  come  to  that  place 
one  evening,  remained  a  brief,  indefinite  time,  and 
vanished,  leaving  behind  him  his  clothes  and  sundry 
useful  property  which  he,  the  new  man  who  found 
himself  there,  might  use  without  fear  of  objection 
from  the  former  owner. 

"  The  sense  of  new  identity  came  with  perfect 
ease  at  the  first  bidding.  It  was  not  marred  by  such 
evidences  of  the  old  fact  as  still  remained.  These 
were  obliterated  one  by  one.  At  last  the  healing 
was  complete ;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  remove 
all  traces  of  anybody's  presence  in  the  room  during 
Mr.  Bud's  absence,  and  submit  the  hair  to  the  skill 
of  a  barber.  The  successor  of  Davenport  made  a 
fire  in  the  coal  stove,  starting  it  with  the  paper  the 
parcels  had  been  wrapped  in;  and  feeding  it  first 
with  Davenport's  clothes,  and  then  with  linen,  tow- 
els, and  other  inflammable  things  brought  in  for 
use  during  the  metamorphosis.  He  made  one  large 
bundle  of  the  shoes,  cans,  jars,  surgical  instruments, 
everything  that  couldn't  be  easily  burnt,  and 
wrapped  them  in  a  sheet,  along  with  the  dead  ashes 
of  the  conflagration  in  the  stove.  He  then  made 
up  Mr.  Bud's  bed,  restored  the  room  to  its  original 
appearance  in  every  respect,  and  waited  for  night. 
As  soon  as  access  to  the  bath-room  was  safe,  he 


266       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

made  his  final  toilet,  as  far  as  that  house  was  con- 
cerned, and  put  on  his  new  clothes  for  the  first 
time.  About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the 
street  was  entirely  deserted,  he  lugged  his  bundle 
—  containing  the  unburnable  things  —  down  the 
stairs  and  across  the  street,  and  dropped  it  into  the 
river.  Even  if  the  things  were  ever  found,  they 
were  such  as  might  come  from  a  vessel,  and 
wouldn't  point  either  to  Murray  Davenport  or  to 
Mr.  Bud's  room. 

"  He  walked  about  the  streets,  in  a  deep  com- 
placent enjoyment  of  his  new  sensations,  till  almost 
daylight.  He  then  took  breakfast  in  a  market  res- 
taurant, after  which  he  went  to  a  barber's  shop  — 
one  of  those  that  open  in  time  for  early-rising  cus- 
tomers —  and  had  his  hair  cut  in  the  desired  fash- 
ion. From  there  he  went  to  a  down-town  store 
and  bought  a  supply  of  linen  and  so  forth,  with  a 
trunk  and  hand-bag,  so  that  he  could  '  arrive  '  prop- 
erly at  a  hotel.  He  did  arrive  at  one,  in  a  cab,  with 
bag  and  baggage,  straight  from  the  store.  Having 
thus  acquired  an  address,  he  called  at  a  tailor's, 
and  gave  his  orders.  In  the  tailor's  shop,  he  re- 
called that  he  had  left  the  Bagley  money  in  Mr. 
Bud's  room,  behind  the  books  on  the  shelf.  He 
hadn't  yet  decided  what  to  do  with  that  money, 
but  in  any  case  it  oughtn't  to  remain  where  it  was; 


TURKS  NARRATIVE    CONTINUED  267 

so  he  went  back  to  Mr.  Bud's  room,  entering  the 
house  unnoticed. 

"  He  took  the  money  from  the  cover  it  was  in, 
and  put  it  in  an  inside  pocket.  He  hadn't  slept 
during  the  previous  night  or  day,  and  the  effects 
of  this  necessary  abstinence  were  now  making  them- 
selves felt,  quite  irresistibly.  So  he  relighted  the 
gas-stove,  and  sat  down  to  rest  awhile  before  going 
to  his  hotel.  His  drowsiness,  instead  of  being 
cured,  was  only  increased  by  this  taste  of  comfort; 
and  the  bed  looked  very  tempting.  To  make  a  long 
story  short,  he  partially  undressed,  lay  down  on 
the  bed,  with  his  overcoat  for  cover,  and  rapidly 
succumbed. 

"  He  was  awakened  by  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
room.  It  was  night,  and  the  lights  and  shadows 
produced  by  the  gas-stove  were  undulating  on  the 
floor  and  walls.  He  waited  till  the  person  who  had 
knocked  went  away;  he  then  sprang  up,  threw  on 
the  few  clothes  he  had  taken  off,  smoothed  down 
the  cover  of  the  bed,  turned  the  gas  off  from  the 
stove,  and  left  the  room  for  the  last  time,  locking 
the  door  behind  him.  As  he  got  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  two  men  came  into  the  hallway  from 
the  street.  One  of  them  happened  to  elbow  him  in 
passing,  and  apologized.  He  had  already  seen  their 
faces  in  the  light  of  the  street-lamp,  and  he  thanked 


268       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

his  stars  for  the  knock  that  had  awakened  him  in 
time.     The  men  were  Mr.  Bud  and  Larcher." 

Turl  paused;  for  the  growing  perception  visible 
on  the  faces  of  Florence  and  Larcher,  since  the  first 
hint  of  the  truth  had  startled  both,  was  now  com- 
plete. It  was  their  turn  for  whatever  intimations 
they  might  have  to  make,  ere  he  should  go  on.  Flor- 
ence was  pale  and  speechless,  as  indeed  was  Larcher 
also ;  but  what  her  feelings  were,  besides  the  wonder 
shared  with  him,  could  not  be  guessed. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

AFTER  THE  DISCLOSURE 

THE  person  who  spoke  first  was  Edna  Hill.  She 
had  seen  Turl  less  often  than  the  other  two  had,  and 
Davenport  never  at  all.  Hence  there  was  no  great 
stupidity  in  her  remark  to  Turl : 

"  But  I  don't  understand.  I  know  Mr.  Larcher 
met  a  man  coming  through  that  hallway  one  night, 
but  it  turned  out  to  be  you." 

"  Yes,  it  was  I,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "  The 
name  of  the  new  man,  you  see,  was  Francis  Turl." 

As  light  flashed  over  Edna's  face,  Larcher  found 
his  tongue  to  express  a  certain  doubt :  "  But  how 
could  that  be?  Davenport  had  a  letter  from  you 
before  he  —  before  any  transformation  could  have 
begun.  I  saw  it  the  night  before  he  disappeared  — 
it  was  signed  Francis  Turl." 

Turl  smiled.  "  Yies,  and  he  asked  if  you  could 
infer  the  writer's  character.  He  wondered  if  you 
would  hit  on  anything  like  the  character  he  had  con- 
269 


2/0       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

structed  out  of  his  imagination.  He  had  already 
begun  practical  experiments  in  the  matter  of  hand- 
writing alone.  Naturally  some  of  that  practice  took 
the  shape  of  imaginary  correspondence.  What 
could  better  mark  the  entire  separateness  of  the 
new  man  from  the  old  than  letters  between  the 
two?  Such  letters  would  imply  a  certain  brief  ac- 
quaintance, which  might  serve  a  turn  if  some  knowl- 
edge of  Murray  Davenport's  affairs  ever  became 
necessary  to  the  new  man's  conduct.  This  has 
already  happened  in  the  matter  of  the  money,  for 
example.  The  name,  too,  was  selected  long  before 
the  disappearance.  That  explains  the  letter  you 
saw.  I  didn't  dare  tell  this  earlier  in  the  story,  — 
I  feared  to  reveal  too  suddenly  what  had  become 
of  Murray  Davenport.  It  was  best  to  break  it  as  I 
have,  was  it  not?" 

He  looked  at  Florence  wistfully,  as  if  awaiting 
judgment.  She  made  an  involuntary  movement 
of  drawing  away,  and  regarded  him  with  something 
almost  like  repulsion. 

"  It's  so  strange,"  she  said,  in  a  hushed  voice. 
"  I  can't  believe  it.  I  don't  know  what  to  think." 

Turl  sighed  patiently.  "  You  can  understand 
now  why  I  didn't  want  to  tell.  Perhaps  you  can 
appreciate  what  it  was  to  me  to  revive  the  past,  — 
to  interrupt  the  illusion,  to  throw  it  back.  So  much 


AFTER    THE   DISCLOSURE  2Jl 

had  been  done  to  perfect  it;  my  dearest  thought 
was  to  preserve  it.  I  shall  preserve  it,  of  course. 
I  know  you  will  keep  the  secret,  all  of  you;  and 
that  you'll  support  the  illusion." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Larcher.  Edna,  for  once 
glad  to  have  somebody's  lead  to  follow,  perfunc- 
torily followed  it.  But  Florence  said  nothing.  Her 
mind  was  yet  in  a  whirl.  She  continued  to  gaze 
at  Turl,  a  touch  of  bewildered  aversion  in  her  look. 

"  I  had  meant  to  leave  New  York,"  he  went  on, 
watching  her  with  cautious  anxiety,  "  in  a  very 
short  time,  and  certainly  not  to  seek  any  of  the 
friends  or  haunts  of  the  old  cast-off  self.  But  when 
I  got  into  the  street  that  night,  after  you  and  Mr. 
Bud  had  passed  me,  Larcher,  I  fell  into  a  strong 
curiosity  as  to  what  you  and  he  might  have  to  say 
about  Davenport.  This  was  Mr.  Bud's  first  visit 
to  town  since  the  disappearance,  so  I  was  pretty 
sure  your  talk  would  be  mainly  about  that.  Also, 
I  wondered  whether  he  would  detect  any  trace  of 
my  long  occupancy  of  his  room.  I  found  I'd  for- 
got to  bring  out  the  cover  taken  from  the  bank- 
bills.  Suppose  that  were  seen,  and  you  recognized 
it,  what  theories  would  you  form?  For  the  sake 
of  my  purpose  I  ought  to  have  put  curiosity  aside, 
but  it  was  too  keen;  I  resolved  to  gratify  it  this 
one  time  only.  The  hallway  was  perfectly  dark, 


2/2       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

and  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  wait  there  till  you  and 
Mr.  Bud  should  come  out.  I  knew  he  would  accom- 
pany you  down-stairs  for  a  good-night  drink  in  the 
saloon  when  you  left.  The  slightest  remark  would 
give  me  some  insight  into  your  general  views  of 
the  affair.  I  waited  accordingly.  You  soon  came 
down  together.  I  stood  well  out  of  your  way  in 
the  darkness  as  you  passed.  And  you  can  imagine 
what  a  revelation  it  was  to  me  when  I  heard  your 
talk.  Do  you  remember  ?  Davenport  —  it  couldn't 
be  anybody  else  —  had  disappeared  just  too  soon 
to  learn  that '  the  young  lady  '  —  so  Mr.  Bud  called 
her  —  had  been  true,  after  all !  And  it  broke  your 
heart  to  have  nothing  to  report  when  you  saw  her !  " 

"  I  do  remember,"  said  Larcher.  Florence's  lip 
quivered. 

"  I  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  like  a  man 
stunned,  for  several  minutes,"  Turl  proceeded. 
"  There  was  so  much  to  make  out.  Perhaps  there 
had  been  something  going  on,  about  the  time  of 
the  disappearance,  that  I  —  that  Davenport  hadn't 
known.  Or  the  disappearance  itself  may  have 
brought  out  things  that  had  been  hidden.  Many 
possibilities  occurred  to  me;  but  the  end  of  all  was 
that  there  had  been  a  mistake ;  that  '  the  young 
lady '  was  deeply  concerned  about  Murray  Dav- 
enport's fate ;  and  that  Larcher  saw  her  frequently. 


AFTER    THE   DISCLOSURE  2J$ 

"  I  went  out,  and  walked  the  streets,  and  thought 
the  situation  over.  Had  I  —  had  Davenport  — 
(the  distinction  between  the  two  was  just  then  more 
difficult  to  preserve)  —  mistakenly  imagined  him- 
self deprived  of  that  which  was  of  more  value  than 
anything  else  in  life?  had  he  —  I  —  in  throwing 
off  the  old  past,  thrown  away  that  precious  thing 
beyond  recovery?  How  precious  it  was,  I  now 
knew,  and  felt  to  the  depths  of  my  soul,  as  I  paced 
the  night  and  wondered  if  this  outcome  was  Fate's 
last  crudest  joke  at  Murray  Davenport's  expense. 
What  should  I  do  ?  Could  I  remain  constant  to  the 
cherished  design,  so  well-laid,  so  painfully  carried 
out,  and  still  keep  my  back  to  the  past,  surrender- 
ing the  happiness  I  might  otherwise  lay  claim  to? 
How  that  happiness  lured  me !  I  couldn't  give  it  up. 
But  the  great  design  —  should  all  that  skill  and 
labor  come  to  nothing?  The  physical  transforma- 
tion of  face  couldn't  be  undone,  that  was  certain. 
Would  that  alone  be  a  bar  between  me  and  the 
coveted  happiness?  My  heart  sank  at  this  question. 
But  if  the  transformation  should  prove  such  a  bar, 
the  problem  would  be  solved  at  least.  I  must  then 
stand  by  the  accomplished  design.  And  meanwhile, 
there  was  no  reason  why  I  should  yet  abandon  it. 
To  think  of  going  back  to  the  old  unlucky  name 
and  history !  —  it  was  asking  too  much ! 


2/4       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Then  came  the  idea  on  which  I  acted.  I  would 
try  to  reconcile  the  alternatives  —  to  stand  true  to 
the  design,  and  yet  obtain  the  happiness.  Murray 
Davenport  should  not  be  recalled.  Francis  Turl 
should  remain,  and  should  play  to  win  the  happiness 
for  himself.  I  would  change  my  plans  somewhat, 
and  stay  in  New  York  for  a  time.  The  first  thing 
to  do  was  to  find  you,  Miss  Kenby.  This  was  easy. 
As  Larcher  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  you,  I  had 
only  to  follow  him  about,  and  afterward  watch  the 
houses  where  he  called.  Knowing  where  he  lived, 
and  his  favorite  resorts,  I  had  never  any  difficulty 
in  getting  on  his  track.  In  that  way,  I  came  to 
keep  an  eye  on  this  house,  and  finally  to  see  your 
father  let  himself  in  with  a  door-key.  I  found  it 
was  a  boarding-house,  took  the  room  I  still  occupy, 
and  managed  very  easily  to  throw  myself  in  your 
father's  way.  You  know  the  rest,  and  how  through 
you  I  met  Miss  Hill  and  Larcher.  In  this  room, 
also,  I  have  had  the  —  experience  —  of  meeting 
Mr.  Bagley." 

"  And  what  of  his  money  ?  "  asked  Florence. 

"  That  has  remained  a  question.  It  is  still  un- 
decided. No  doubt  a  third  person  would  hold  that, 
though  Bagley  morally  owed  that  amount,  the  cred- 
itor wasn't  justified  in  paying  himself  by  a  breach 
of  trust.  But  the  creditor  himself,  looking  at  the 


AFTER    THE  DISCLOSURE  2/5 

matter  with  feeling  rather  than  thought,  was  sin- 
cere enough  in  considering  the  case  at  least  debata- 
ble. As  for  me,  you  will  say,  if  I  am  Francis  Turl, 
I  am  logically  a  third  person.  Even  so,  the  idea 
of  restoring  the  money  to  Bagley  seems  against 
nature.  As  Francis  Turl,  I  ought  not  to  feel  so 
strongly  Murray  Davenport's  claims,  perhaps;  yet 
I  am  in  a  way  his  heir.  Not  knowing  what  my 
course  would  ultimately  be,  I  adopted  the  fiction 
that  my  claim  to  certain  money  was  in  dispute 
—  that  a  decision  might  deprive  me  of  it.  I  didn't 
explain,  of  course,  that  the  decision  would  be  my 
own.  If  the  money  goes  back  to  Bagley,  I  must 
depend  solely  upon  what  I  can  earn.  I  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  be  versatile  in  my  vocations,  as  Daven- 
port had  been;  to  rely  entirely  on  the  one  which 
seemed  to  promise  most.  I  have  to  thank  you, 
Larcher,  for  having  caused  me  to  learn  what  that 
was,  in  my  former  iden —  in  the  person  of  Murray 
Davenport.  You  see  how  the  old  and  new  selves 
will  still  overlap;  but  the  confusion  doesn't  harm 
my  sense  of  being  Francis  Turl  as  much  as  you 
might  imagine;  and  the  lapses  will  necessarily  be 
fewer  and  fewer  in  time.  Well,  I  felt  I  could 
safely  fall  back  on  my  ability  as  an  artist  in  black 
and  white.  But  my  work  should  be  of  a  different 
line  from  that  which  Murray  Davenport  had  fol- 


2/6       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

lowed  —  not  only  to  prevent  recognition  of  the 
style,  but  to  accord  with  my  new  outlook  —  with 
Francis  Turl's  outlook  —  on  the  world.  That  is 
why  my  work  has  dealt  with  the  comedy  of  life. 
That  is  why  I  elected  to  do  comic  sketches,  and 
shall  continue  to  do  them.  It  was  necessary,  if  I 
decided  against  keeping  the  Bagley  money,  that  I 
should  have  funds  coming  in  soon.  What  I  re- 
ceived—  what  Davenport  received  for  illustrat- 
ing your  articles,  Larcher,  though  it  made  him 
richer  than  he  had  often  found  himself,  had  been 
pretty  well  used  up  incidentally  to  the  transforma- 
tion and  my  subsequent  emergence  to  the  world. 
So  I  resorted  to  you  to  facilitate  my  introduction 
to  the  market.  When  I  met  you  here  one  day,  I 
expressed  a  wish  that  I  might  run  across  a  copy 
of  the  Boydell  Shakespeare  Gallery.  I  knew  —  it 
was  another  piece  of  my  inherited  information 
from  Davenport  —  that  you  had  that  book.  In 
that  way  I  drew  an  invitation  to  call  on  you,  and 
the  acquaintance  that  began  resulted  as  I  desired. 
Forgive  me  for  the'  subterfuge.  I'm  grateful  to 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

"  The  pleasure  has  been  mine,  I  assure  you," 
replied  Larcher,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  the  profit  mine,"  said  Turl.  "  The  check 
for  those  first  three  sketches  I  placed  so  easily 


AFTER    THE  DISCLOSURE  277 

through  you  came  just  in  time.  Yet  I  hadn't  been 
alarmed.  I  felt  that  good  luck  would  attend  me  — 
Francis  Turl  was  born  to  it.  I'm  confident  my  liv- 
ing is  assured.  All  the  same,  that  Bagley  money 
would  unlock  a  good  store  of  the  sweets  of  life." 

He  paused,  and  his  eyes  sought  Florence's  face 
again.  Still  they  found  no  answer  there  —  nothing 
but  the  same  painful  difficulty  in  knowing  how  to 
regard  him,  how  to  place  him  in  her  heart. 

"  But  the  matter  of  livelihood,  or  the  question 
of  the  money,"  he  resumed,  humbly  and  patiently, 
"  wasn't  what  gave  me  most  concern.  You  will 
understand  now  —  Florence  "  —  his  voice  faltered 
as  he  uttered  the  name  —  "  why  I  sometimes  looked 
at  you  as  I  did,  why  I  finally  said  what  I  did.  I 
saw  that  Larcher  had  spoken  truly  in  Mr.  Bud's 
hallway  that  night :  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  your 
love  for  Murray  Davenport.  What  had  caused 
your  silence,  which  had  made  him  think  you  false, 
I  dared  not  —  as  Turl  —  inquire.  Larcher  once 
alluded  to  a  misunderstanding,  but  it  wasn't  for  me 
—  Turl  —  to  show  inquisitiveness.  My  hope,  how- 
ever, now  was  that  you  would  forget  Daven- 
port—  that  the  way  would  be  free  for  the  new- 
comer. When  I  saw  how  far  you  were  from 
forgetting  the  old  love,  I  was  both  touched  and 
baffled  —  touched  infinitely  at  your  loyalty  to  Mur- 


2/8       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

ray  Davenport,  baffled  in  my  hopes  of  winning  you 
as  Francis  Turl.  I  should  have  thought  less  of 
you  —  loved  you  less  —  if  you  had  so  soon  given 
up  the  unfortunate  man  who  had  passed;  and  yet 
my  dearest  hopes  depended  on  your  giving  him 
up.  I  even  urged  you  to  forget  him;  assured  you 
he  would  never  reappear,  and  begged  you  to  set  your 
back  to  the  past.  Though  your  refusal  dashed  my 
hopes,  in  my  heart  I  thanked  you  for  it  —  thanked 
you  in  behalf  of  the  old  self,  the  old  memories  which 
had  again  become  dear  to  me.  It  was  a  puzzling 
situation,  —  my  preferred  rival  was  my  former 
self;  I  had  set  the  new  self  to  win  you  from  con- 
stancy to  the  old,  and  my  happiness  lay  in  doing 
so;  and  yet  for  that  constancy  I  loved  you  more 
than  ever,  and  if  you  had  fallen  from  it,  I  should 
have  been  wounded  while  I  was  made  happy.  All 
the  time,  however,  my  will  held  out  against  telling 
you  the  secret.  I  feared  the  illusion  must  lose  some- 
thing if  it  came  short  of  being  absolute  reality  to 
any  one  —  even  you.  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  make 
you  feel  how  resolute  I  was,  against  any  divul- 
gence  that  might  lessen  the  gulf  between  me 
and  the  old  unfortunate  self.  It  seemed  better  to 
wait  till  time  should  become  my  ally  against  my 
rival  in  your  heart.  But  to-night,  when  I  saw 
again  how  firmly  the  rival  —  the  old  Murray  Dav- 


AFTER    THE  DISCLOSURE  279 

enport  —  was  installed  there ;  when  I  saw  how 
much  you  suffered  —  how  much  you  would  still 
suffer  —  from  uncertainty  about  his  fate,  I  felt  it 
was  both  futile  and  cruel  to  hold  out." 

"  It  was  cruel,"  said  Florence.  "  I  have  suf- 
fered." 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  replied.  "  I  didn't  fully  real- 
ize —  I  was  too  intent  on  my  own  side  of  the  case. 
To  have  let  you  suffer !  —  it  was  more  than  cruel. 
I  shall  not  forgive  myself  for  that,  at  least." 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  And  now  that  you  know  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low 
voice,  after  a  moment. 

"  It  is  so  strange,"  she  replied,  coldly.  "  I  can't 
tell  what  I  think.  You  are  not  the  same.  I  can 
see  now  that  you  are  he  —  in  spite  of  all  your  skill, 
I  can  see  that." 

He  made  a  slight  movement,  as  if  to  take  her 
hand.  But  she  drew  back,  saying  quickly: 

"  And  yet  you  are  not  he." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Turl.  "And  it  isn't  as 
he  that  I  would  appear.  I  am  Francis  Turl  —  " 

"  And  Francis  Turl  is  almost  a  stranger  to  me," 
she  answered.  "  Oh,  I  see  now !  Murray  Daven- 
port is  indeed  lost  —  more  lost  than  ever.  Your 
design  has  been  all  too  successful." 

"  It  was  his  design,  remember,"  pleaded  Turl. 


28O       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  And  I  am  the  result  of  it  —  the  result  of  his 
project,  his  wish,  his  knowledge  and  skill.  Surely 
all  that  was  good  in  him  remains  in  me.  I  am 
the  good  in  him,  severed  from  the  unhappy,  and 
made  fortunate." 

"  But  what  was  it  in  him  that  I  loved  ?  "  she 
asked,  looking  at  Turl  as  if  in  search  of  some- 
thing missing. 

He  could  only  say :  "  If  you  reject  me,  he  is 
stultified.  His  plan  contemplated  no  such  unhappi- 
ness.  If  you  cause  that  unhappiness,  you  so  far 
bring  disaster  on  his  plan." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  repeated  sadly :  "  You 
are  not  the  same." 

"  But  surely  the  love  I  have  for  you  —  that  is 
the  same  —  the  old  love  transmitted  to  the  new 
self.  In  that,  at  least,  Murray  Davenport  survives 
in  me  —  and  I'm  willing  that  he  should." 

Again  she  vainly  asked :  "  What  was  it  in  him 
that  I  loved  —  that  I  still  love  when  I  think  of 
him?  I  try  to  think  of  you  as  the  Murray  Daven- 
port I  knew,  but  —  " 

"  But  I  wouldn't  have  you  think  of  me  as  Murray 
Davenport.  Even  if  I  wished  to  be  Murray  Daven- 
port again,  I  could  not.  To  re-transform  myself 
is  impossible.  Even  if  I  tried  mentally  to  return 
to  the  old  self,  the  return  would  be  mental  only, 


AFTER    THE  DISCLOSURE  28 1 

and  even  mentally  it  would  never  be  complete.  You 
say  truly  the  old  Murray  Davenport  is  lost.  What 
was  it  you  loved  in  him  ?  Was  it  his  unhappiness  ? 
His  misfortune?  Then,  perhaps,  if  you  doom  me 
to  unhappiness  now,  you  will  in  the  end  love  me 
for  my  unhappiness."  He  smiled  despondently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  a  matter 
to  decide  by  talk,  or  even  by  thought.  I  must 
see  how  I  feel.  I  must  get  used  to  the  situation. 
It's  so  strange  as  yet.  We  must  wait."  She  rose, 
rather  weakly,  and  supported  herself  with  the  back 
of  a  chair.  "  When  I'm  ready  for  you  to  call,  I'll 
send  you  a  message." 

There  was  nothing  for  Turl  to  do  but  bow  to 
this  temporary  dismissal,  and  Larcher  saw  the  fit- 
ness of  going  at  the  same  time.  With  few  and 
rather  embarrassed  words  of  departure,  the  young 
men  left  Florence  to  the  company  of  Edna  Hill,  in 
whom  astonishment  had  produced  for  once  the 
effect  of  comparative  speechlessness. 

Out  in  the  hall,  when  the  door  of  the  Kenby 
suite  had  closed  behind  them,  Turl  said  to  Larcher : 
"  You've  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  over  Murray 
Davenport,  and  shown  much  kindness  in  his  inter- 
est. I  must  apologize  for  the  trouble,  —  as  his 
representative,  you  know,  —  and  thank  you  for  the 
kindness." 


282       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Don't  mention  either,"  said  Larcher,  cordially. 

"  I  take  it  from  your  tone,"  said  Turl,  smiling, 
"  that  my  story  doesn't  alter  the  friendly  relations 
between  us." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  help  the 
illusion,  both  for  the  sake  of  Murray  Davenport 
that  was,  and  of  you  that  are.  It  wouldn't  do  for 
a  conception  like  yours  —  so  original  and  bold  —  to 
come  to  failure.  Are  you  going  to  turn  in  now?'* 

"  Not  if  I  may  go  part  of  the  way  home  with 
you.  This  snow-storm  is  worth  being  out  in.  Wait 
here  till  I  get  my  hat  and  overcoat." 

He  guided  Larcher  into  the  drawing-room.  As 
they  entered,  they  came  face  to  face  with  a  man 
standing  just  a  pace  from  the  threshold  —  a  bulky 
man  with  overcoat  and  hat  on.  His  face  was  coarse 
and  red,  and  on  it  was  a  look  of  vengeful  triumph. 

"  Just  the  fellow  I  was  lookin'  for,"  said  this 
person  to  Turl.  "  Good  evening,  Mr.  Murray  Dav- 
enport !  How  about  my  bunch  of  money  ?  " 

The  speaker,  of  course,  was  Bagley. 


GOOD    EVENING,    MR.    MURRAY    DAVENPORT!       HOW    ABOUT 
MY    BUNCH    OF    MONEY  ?  '  " 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

BAGLEY    SHINES    OUT 

"  I  BEG  pardon,"  said  Turl,  coolly,  as  if  he  had 
not  heard  aright. 

"  You  needn't  try  to  bluff  me,"  said  Bagley. 
"  I've  been  on  to  your  game  for  a  good  While. 
You  can  fool  some  of  the  people,  but  you  can't  fool 
me.  I'm  too  old  a  friend,  Murray  Davenport." 

"  My  name  is  Turl." 

"  Before  I  get  through  with  you,  you  won't  have 
any  name  at  all.  You'll  just  have  a  number.  I 
don't  intend  to  compound.  If  you  offered  me  my 
money  back  at  this  moment,  I  wouldn't  take  it. 
I'll  get  it,  or  what's  left  of  it,  but  after  due  course 
of  law.  You're  a  great  change  artist,  you  are. 
We'll  see  what  another  transformation'll  make  you 
look  like.  We'll  see  how  clipped  hair  and  a  striped 
suit'll  become  you." 

Larcher  glanced  in  sympathetic  alarm  at  Turl; 
but  the  latter  seemed  perfectly  at  ease. 

"  You  appear  to  be  laboring  under  some  sort 
283 


284      THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

of  delusion,"  he  replied.  "  Your  name,  I  believe, 
is  Bagley." 

"  You'll  find  out  what  sort  of  delusion  it  is.  It's 
a  delusion  that'll  go  through;  it's  not  like  your 
illusion,  as  you  call  it  —  and  very  ill  you'll  be  —  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  call  it  that  ?  "  asked  Turl, 
quickly.  "  I  never  spoke  of  having  an  illusion,  in 
your  presence  —  or  till  this  evening." 

Bagley  turned  redder,  and  looked  somewhat 
foolish. 

"  You  must  have  been  overhearing,"  added  Turl. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  have  been," 
replied  Bagley,  with  recovered  insolence. 

"  It  isn't  necessary  to  tell  me,  thank  you.  And 
as  that  door  is  a  thick  one,  you  must  have  had 
your  ear  to  the  keyhole." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  had,  and  a  good  thing,  too.  Now, 
you  see  how  completely  I've  got  the  dead  wood 
on  you.  I  thought  it  only  fair  and  sportsmanlike  " 
—  Bagley's  eyes  gleamed  facetiously  —  "  to  let  you 
know  before  I  notify  the  police.  But  if  you  can 
disappear  again  before  I  do  that,  it'll  be  a  mighty 
quick  disappearance." 

He  started  for  the  hall,  to  leave  the  house. 

Turl  arrested  him  by  a  slight  laugh  of  amuse- 
ment. "  You'll  have  a  simple  task  proving  that  I 
am  Murray  Davenport." 


BAG  LEY  SHINES  OUT  28$ 

"  We'll  see  about  that.  I  guess  I  can  explain 
the  transformation  well  enough  to  convince  the 
authorities." 

"  They'll  be  sure  to  believe  you.  They're  invari- 
ably so  credulous  —  and  the  story  is  so  probable." 

"  You  made  it  probable  enough  when  you  told 
it  awhile  ago,  even  though  I  couldn't  catch  it  all. 
You  can  make  it  as  probable  again." 

"  But  I  sha'n't  have  to  tell  it  again.  As  the 
accused  person,  I  sha'n't  have  to  say  a  word  beyond 
denying  the  identity.  If  any  talking  is  necessary, 
I  shall  have  a  clever  lawyer  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  I  can  swear  to  what  I  heard  from  your 
own  lips." 

"  Through  a  keyhole  ?  Such  a  long  story  ?  so  full 
of  details?  Your  having  heard  it  in  that  manner 
will  add  to  its  credibility,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  can  swear  I  recognize  you  as  Murray  Daven- 
port." 

"  As  the  accuser,  you'll  have  to  support  your 
statement  with  the  testimony  of  witnesses.  You'll 
have  to  bring  people  who  knew  Murray  Davenport. 
What  do  you  suppose  they'll  swear?  His  landlady, 
for  instance?  Do  you  think,  Larcher,  that  Murray 
Davenport's  landlady  would  swear  that  I'm  he?" 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Larcher,  smiling. 


286       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  Here's  Larcher  himself  as  a  witness,"  said 
Bagley. 

"  I  can  swear  I  don't  see  the  slightest  resemblance 
between  Mr.  Turl  and  Murray  Davenport,"  said 
Larcher. 

"  You  can  swear  you  know  he  is  Murray  Daven- 
port, all  the  same." 

"  And  when  my  lawyer  asks  him  how  he  knows," 
said  Turl,  "  he  can  only  say,  from  the  story  I  told 
to-night.  Can  he  swear  that  story  is  true,  of  his 
own  separate  knowledge?  No.  Can  he  swear  I 
wasn't  spinning  a  yarn  for  amusement?  No." 

"  I  think  you'll  find  me  a  difficult  witness  to  drag 
anything  out  of,"  put  in  Larcher,  "  if  you  can 
manage  to  get  me  on  the  stand  at  all.  I  can  take 
a  holiday  at  a  minute's  notice ;  I  can  even  work  for 
awhile  in  some  other  city,  if  necessary." 

"  There  are  others,  —  the  ladies  in  there,  who 
heard  the  story,"  said  Bagley,  lightly. 

"  One  of  them  didn't  know  Murray  Davenport," 
said  Turl,  "  and  the  other  —  I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  see  her  subjected  to  the  ordeal  of  the  witness- 
stand  on  my  account.  I  hardly  think  you  would 
subject  her  to  it,  Mr.  Bagley,  —  I  do  you  that 
credit." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Bagley.  "  I'll 
take  my  chances  of  showing  you  up  one  way  or 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  287 

another,  just  the  same.  You  are  Murray  Daven- 
port, and  I  know  it ;  that's  pretty  good  material  to 
start  with.  Your  story  has  managed  to  convince 
me,  little  as  I  could  hear  of  it;  and  I'm  not  ex- 
actly a  '  come-on '  as  to  fairy  tales,  at  that  —  " 

"  It  convinced  you  as  I  told  it,  and  because  of 
your  peculiar  sense  of  the  traits  and  resources  of 
Murray  Davenport.  But  can  you  impart  that  sense 
to  any  one  else?  And  can  you  tell  the  story  as  I 
told  it?  I'll  wager  you  can't  tell  it  so  as  to  con- 
vince a  lawyer." 

"How  much  will  you  wager?"  said  Bagley, 
scornfully,  the  gambling  spirit  lighting  up  in  him. 

"  I  merely  used  the  expression,"  said  Turl.  "  I'm 
not  a  betting  man." 

"  I  am,"  said  Bagley.  "  What'll  you  bet  I  can't 
convince  a  lawyer  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  betting  man,"  repeated  Turl,  "  but 
just  for  this  occasion  I  shouldn't  mind  putting  ten 
dollars  in  Mr.  Larcher's  hands,  if  a  lawyer  were 
accessible  at  this  hour." 

He  turned  to  Larcher,  with  a  look  which  the 
latter  made  out  vaguely  as  a  request  to  help  mat- 
ters forward  on  the  line  they  had  taken.  Not  quite 
sure  whether  he  interpreted  correctly,  Larcher  put 
in : 

"  I  think  there's  one  to  be  found  not  very  far 


288       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

from  here.  I  mean  Mr.  Barry  Tompkins ;  he  passes 
most  of  his  evenings  at  a  Bohemian  resort  near 
Sixth  Avenue.  He  was  slightly  acquainted  with 
Murray  Davenport,  though.  Would  that  fact  mili- 
tate?" 

"  Not  at  all,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  said  Turl, 
taking  a  bank-bill  from  his  pocket  and  handing  it 
to  Larcher. 

"  I've  heard  of  Mr.  Barry  Tompkins,"  said  Bag- 
ley.  "  He'd  do  all  right.  But  if  he's  a  friend  of 
Davenport's  —  " 

"He  isn't  a  friend,"  corrected  Larcher.  "He 
met  him  once  or  twice  in  my  company  for  a  few 
minutes  at  a  time." 

"  But  he's  evidently  your  friend,  and  probably 
knows  you're  Davenport's  friend,"  rejoined  Bagley 
to  Larcher. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Turl.  "  I  only 
meant  I  was  willing  to  undergo  inspection  by  one 
of  Davenport's  acquaintances,  while  you  told  the 
story.  If  you  object  to  Mr.  Tompkins,  there  will 
doubtless  be  some  other  lawyer  at  the  place  Larcher 
speaks  of." 

"  All  right ;  I'll  cover  your  money  quick  enough," 
said  Bagley,  doing  so.  "  I  guess  we'll  find  a 
lawyer  to  suit  in  that  crowd.  I  know  the  place  you 


BAGLEY  SHINES   OUT  289 

Larcher  and  Bagley  waited,  while  Turl  went  up- 
stairs for  his  things.  When  he  returned,  ready  to 
go  out,  the  three  faced  the  blizzard  together.  The 
snowfall  had  waned ;  the  flakes  were  now  few,  and 
came  down  gently;  but  the  white  mass,  little  trod- 
den in  that  part  of  the  city  since  nightfall,  was  so 
thick  that  the  feet  sank  deep  at  every  step.  The 
labor  of  walking,  and  the  cold,  kept  the  party  silent 
till  they  reached  the  place  where  Larcher  had  sought 
out  Barry  Tompkins  the  night  he  received  Edna's 
first  orders  about  Murray  Davenport.  When  they 
opened  the  basement  door  to  enter,  the  burst  of 
many  voices  betokened  a  scene  in  great  contrast  to 
the  snowy  night  at  their  backs.  A  few  steps 
through  a  small  hallway  led  them  into  this  scene,  — 
the  tobacco-smoky  room,  full  of  loudly  talking  peo- 
ple, who  sat  at  tables  whereon  appeared  great  variety 
of  bottles  and  glasses.  An  open  door  showed  the 
second  room  filled  as  the  first  was.  One  would 
have  supposed  that  nobody  could  have  heard  his 
neighbor's  words  for  the  general  hubbub,  but  a 
glance  over  the  place  revealed  that  the  noise  was 
but  the  composite  effect  of  separate  conversations 
of  groups  of  three  or  four.  Privacy  of  communi- 
cation, where  desired,  was  easily  possible  under 
cover  of  the  general  noise. 

Before  the  three  newcomers  had  finished  their 


2QO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

survey  of  the  room,  Larcher  saw  Barry  Tompkins 
signalling,  with  a  raised  glass  and  a  grinning  coun- 
tenance, from  a  far  corner.  He  mentioned  the  fact 
to  his  companions. 

"  Let's  go  over  to  him,"  said  Bagley,  abruptly. 
"I  see  there's  room  there." 

Larcher  was  nothing  loath,  nor  was  Turl  in  the 
least  unwilling.  The  latter  merely  cast  a  look  of 
curiosity  at  Bagley.  Something  had  indeed  leaped 
suddenly  into  that  gentleman's  head.  Tompkins  was 
manifestly  not  yet  in  Turl's  confidence.  If,  then, 
it  were  made  to  appear  that  all  was  friendly  be- 
tween the  returned  Davenport  and  Bagley,  why 
should  Tompkins,  supposing  he  recognized  Daven- 
port upon  Bagley's  assertion,  conceal  the  fact? 

Tompkins  had  managed  to  find  and  crowd  to- 
gether three  unoccupied  chairs  by  the  time  Larcher 
had  threaded  a  way  to  him.  Larcher,  looking 
around,  saw  that  Bagley  had  followed  close.  He 
therefore  introduced  Bagley  first;  and  then  Turl. 
Tompkins  had  the  same  brief,  hearty  handshake, 
the  same  mirthful  grin  —  as  if  all  life  were  a  joke, 
and  every  casual  meeting  were  an  occasion  for 
chuckling  at  it  —  for  both. 

"  I  thought  you  said  Mr.  Tompkins  knew  Daven- 
port," remarked  Bagley  to  Larcher,  as  soon  as  all 
in  the  party  were  seated. 


BAG  LEY  SHINES  OUT  29 1 

"  Certainly/'  replied  Larcher. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Tompkins,  you  don't  seem  to  live 
up  to  your  reputation  as  a  quick-sighted  man,"  said 
Bagley. 

"  I  beg  pardon  ?  "  said  Tompkins,  interrogatively, 
touched  in  one  of  his  vanities. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  don't  recognize  this  gentle- 
man ?  "  asked  Bagley,  indicating  Turl.  "  As  some- 
body you've  met  before,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Extremely  possible,"  replied  Tompkins,  with  a 
sudden  curtness  in  his  voice.  "  I  do  not  recognize 
this  gentleman  as  anybody  I've  met  before.  But, 
as  I  never  forget  a  face,  I  shall  always  recognize 
him  in  the  future  as  somebody  I've  met  to-night." 
Whereat  he  grinned  benignly  at  Turl,  who  acknowl- 
edged with  a  courteous  "  Thank  you." 

"  You  never  forget  a  face,"  said  Bagley,  "  and 
yet  you  don't  remember  this  one.  Make  allowance 
for  its  having  undergone  a  lot  of  alterations,  and 
look  close  at  it.  Put  a  hump  on  the  nose,  and  take 
the  dimples  away,  and  don't  let  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  turn  up,  and  pull  the  hair  down  over  the 
forehead,  and  imagine  several  other  changes,  and 
see  if  you  don't  make  out  your  old  acquaintance  — 
and  my  old  friend  —  Murray  Davenport." 

Tompkins  gazed  at  Turl,  then  at  the  speaker, 


292       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

and  finally  —  with  a  wondering  inquiry  —  at 
Larcher.  It  was  Turl  who  answered  the  inquiry. 

"  Mr.  Bagley  is  perfectly  sane  and  serious,"  said 
he.  "  He  declares  I  am  the  Murray  Davenport  who 
disappeared  a  few  months  ago,  and  thinks  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  identify  me  as  that  person." 

"  If  you  gentlemen  are  working  up  a  joke,"  re- 
plied Tompkins,  "  I  hope  I  shall  soon  begin  to  see 
the  fun;  but  if  you're  not,  why  then,  Mr.  Bagley, 
I  should  earnestly  advise  you  to  take  something 
for  this." 

"  Oh,  just  wait,  Mr.  Tompkins.  You're  a  well- 
informed  man,  I  believe.  Now  let's  go  slow.  You 
won't  deny  the  possibility  of  a  man's  changing  his 
appearance  by  surgical  and  other  means,  in  this 
scientific  age,  so  as  almost  to  defy  recognition?  " 

"  I  deny  the  possibility  of  his  doing  such  a  thing 
so  as  to  defy  recognition  by  me.  So  much  for  your 
general  question.  As  to  this  gentleman's  being  the 
person  I  once  met  as  Murray  Davenport,  I  can  only 
wonder  what  sort  of  a  hoax  you're  trying  to  work." 

Bagley  looked  his  feelings  in  silence.  Giving 
Barry  Tompkins  up,  he  said  to  Larcher :  "  I  don't 
see  any  lawyer  here  that  I'm  acquainted  with.  I 
was  a  bit  previous,  getting  let  in  to  decide  that  bet 
to-night." 

"  Perhaps    Mr.    Tompkins   knows    some   lawyer 


BAG  LEY  SHINES  OUT  293 

here,  to  whom  he  will  introduce  you,"  suggested 
Turl. 

"  You  want  a  lawyer  ?  "  said  Tompkins.  "  There 
are  three  or  four  here,  Over  there's  Doctor  Brady, 
the  medico-legal  man ;  you've  heard  of  him,  I  sup- 
pose, —  a  well-known  criminologist." 

"  I  should  think  he'd  be  the  very  man  for  you," 
said  Turl  to  Bagley.  "  Besides  being  a  lawyer,  he 
knows  surgery,  and  he's  an  authority  on  the  habits 
of  criminals." 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?  "  asked  Bagley,  at  the 
same  time  that  his  eyes  lighted  up  at  the  chance  of 
an  auditor  free  from  the  incredulity  of  ignorance. 

"  I  never  met  him,"  said  Turl. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Larcher;  "  and  I  don't  think  Mur- 
ray Davenport  ever  did." 

"  Then  if  Mr.  Tompkins  will  introduce  Mr. 
Larcher  and  me,  and  come  away  at  once  without  any 
attempt  to  prejudice,  I'm  agreed,  as  far  as  our  bet's 
concerned.  But  I'm  to  be  let  alone  to  do  the  talking 
my  own  way." 

Barry  Tompkins  led  Bagley  and  Larcher  over  to 
the  medico-legal  criminologist  —  a  tall,  thin  man  in 
the  forties,  with  prematurely  gray  hair  and  a 
smooth-shaven  face,  cold  and  inscrutable  in  expres- 
sion—  and,  having  introduced  and  helped  them  to 


2Q4       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

find  chairs,  rejoined  Turl.  Bagley  was  not  ten 
seconds  in  getting  the  medico-legal  man's  ear. 

"  Doctor,  I've  wanted  to  meet  you,"  he  began, 
"  to  speak  about  a  remarkable  case  that  comes  right 
in  your  line.  I'd  like  to  tell  you  the  story,  just  as 
I  know  it,  and  get  your  opinion  on  it." 

The  criminologist  evinced  a  polite  but  not  enthusi- 
astic willingness  to  hear,  and  at  once  took  an  attitude 
of  grave  attention,  which  he  kept  during  the  entire 
recital,  his  face  never  changing ;  his  gaze  sometimes 
turned  penetratingly  on  Bagley,  sometimes  dropping 
idly  to  the  table. 

"  There's  a  young  fellow  in  this  town,  a  friend 
of  mine,"  Bagley  went  on,  "  of  a  literary  turn  of 
mind,  and  altogether  what  you'd  call  a  queer  Dick. 
He'd  got  down  on  his  luck,  for  one  reason  and 
another,  and  was  dead  sore  on  himself.  Now  being 
the  sort  of  man  he  was,  understand,  he  took  the 
most  remarkable  notion  you  ever  heard  of."  And 
Bagley  gave  what  Larcher  had  inwardly  to  admit 
was  a  very  clear  and  plausible  account  of  the  whole 
transaction.  As  the  tale  advanced,  the  medico- 
legal  expert's  eyes  affected  the  table  less  and  Bagley's 
countenance  more.  By  and  by  they  occasionally 
sought  Larcher's  with  something  of  same  inquiry 
that  those  of  Barry  Tompkins  had  shown.  But  the 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  2$$ 

courteous  attention,  the  careful  heeding  of  every 
word,  was  maintained  to  the  end  of  the  story. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  Bagley,  triumphantly,  "  I'd 
like  to  ask  what  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

The  criminologist  gave  a  final  look  at  Bagley, 
questioning  for  the  last  time  his  seriousness,  and 
then  answered,  with  cold  decisiveness : 

"  It's  impossible." 

"  But  I  know  it  to  be  true!  "  blurted  Bagley. 

"  Some  little  transformation  might  be  accom- 
plished in  the  way  you  describe,"  said  the  medico- 
legal  man.  "  But  not  such  as  would  insure  against 
recognition  by  an  observant  acquaintance  for  any 
appreciable  length  of  time." 

"  But  surely  you  know  what  criminals  have  done 
to  avoid  identification  ?  " 

"  Better  than  any  other  man  in  New  York,"  said 
the  other,  simply,  without  any  boast  fulness. 

"  And  you  know  what  these  facial  surgeons  do?  " 

"  Certainly.  A  friend  of  mine  has  written  the 
only  really  scientific  monograph  yet  published  on 
the  art  they  profess." 

"  And  yet  you  say  that  what  my  friend  has  done 
is  impossible?  " 

"  What  you  say  he  has  done  is  quite  impossible. 
Mr.  Tompkins,  for  example,  whom  you  cite  as 
having  once  met  your  friend  and  then  failed  to 


296       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

recognize  him,  would  recognize  him  in  ten  seconds 
after  any  transformation  within  possibility.  If  he 
failed  to  recognize  the  man  you  take  to  be  your 
friend  transformed,  make  up  your  mind  the  man  is 
somebody  else." 

Bagley  drew  a  deep  sigh,  curtly  thanked  the 
criminologist,  and  rose,  saying  to  Larcher :  "  Well, 
you  better  turn  over  the  stakes  to  your  friend,  I 
guess." 

"  You're  not  going  yet,  are  you?  "  said  Larcher. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  lose  this  bet;  but  I'll  try  my  story 
on  the  police  just  the  same.  Truth  is  mighty  and 
will  prevail." 

Before  Bagley  could  make  his  way  out,  how- 
ever, Turl,  who  had  been  watching  him,  managed  to 
get  to  his  side.  Larcher,  waving  a  good-night  to 
Barry  Tompkins,  followed  the  two  from  the  room. 
In  the  hall,  he  handed  the  stakes  to  Turl. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  win  all  right  enough,"  admitted 
Bagley.  "  My  fun  will  come  later." 

"  I  trust  you'll  see  the  funny  side  of  it,"  replied 
Turl,  accompanying  him  forth  to  the  snowy  street. 
"You  haven't  laughed  much  at  the  little  foretaste 
of  the  incredulity  that  awaits  you." 

"  Never  you  mind.  I'll  make  them  believe  me, 
before  I'm  through."  He  had  turned  toward  Sixth 
Avenue.  Turl  and  Larcher  stuck  close  to  him. 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  2Q/ 

"  You'll  have  them  suggesting  rest-cures  for  the 
mind,  and  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Turl,  pleasantly. 

"  And  the  newspapers  will  be  calling  you  the 
Great  American  Identifier,"  put  in  Larcher. 

"  There'll  be  somebody  else  as  the  chief  identi- 
fier," said  Bagley,  glaring  at  Turl.  "  Somebody 
that  knows  it's  you.  I  heard  her  say  that  much." 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Bagley."  Turl  enforced 
obedience  by  stepping  in  front  of  the  man  and  facing 
him.  The  three  stood  still,  at  the  corner,  while 
an  elevated  train  rumbled  along  overhead.  "  I  don't 
think  you  really  mean  that.  I  don't  think  that,  as 
an  American,  you  would  really  subject  a  woman  — 
such  a  woman  —  to  such  an  ordeal,  to  gain  so  little. 
Would  you  now  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  Despite  his  defiant  look, 
Bagley  had  weakened  a  bit. 

"  I  can't  imagine  your  doing  it.  But  if  you  did, 
my  lawyer  would  have  to  make  you  tell  how  you  had 
heard  this  wonderful  tale." 

"  Through  the  door.    That's  easy  enough." 

"  We  could  show  that  the  tale  couldn't  possibly 
be  heard  through  so  thick  a  door,  except  by  the 
most  careful  attention  —  at  the  keyhole.  You  would 
have  to  tell  my  lawyer  why  you  were  listening  at 
the  keyhole  —  at  the  keyhole  of  that  lady's  parlor. 
I  can  see  you  now,  in  my  mind's  eye,  attempting  to 


298       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

answer  that  question  —  with  the  reporters  eagerly 
awaiting  your  reply  to  publish  it  to  the  town." 

Bagley,  still  glaring  hard,  did  some  silent  imagin- 
ing on  his  own  part.  At  last  he  growled : 

"  If  I  do  agree  to  settle  this  matter  on  the  quiet, 
how  much  of  that  money  have  you  got  left  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  the  money  you  placed  in  Murray 
Davenport's  hands  before  he  disappeared,  I've  never 
heard  that  any  of  it  has  been  spent.  But  isn't  it 
the  case  that  Davenport  considered  himself  morally 
entitled  to  that  amount  from  you  ?  " 

Bagley  gave  a  contemptuous  grunt;  then,  sud- 
denly brightening  up,  he  said :  "  S'pose  Davenport 
was  entitled  to  it.  As  you  ain't  Davenport,  why, 
of  course,  you  ain't  entitled  to  it.  Now  what  have 
you  got  to  say  ?  " 

"  Merely,  that,  as  you're  not  Davenport,  neither 
are  you  entitled  to  it." 

"  But  I  was  only  supposin'.  I  don't  admit  that 
Davenport  was  entitled  to  it.  Ordinary  law's  good 
enough  for  me.  I  just  wanted  to  show  you  where 
you  stand,  you  not  bein'  Davenport,  even  if  he  had 
a  right  to  that  money." 

"  Suppose  Davenport  had  given  me  the  money  ?  " 

"  Then  you'd  have  to  restore  it,  as  it  wasn't  law- 
fully his." 

"  But  you  can't  prove  that  I  have  it,  to  restore." 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  299 

"  If  I  can  establish  any  sort  of  connection  between 
you  and  Davenport,  I  can  cause  your  affairs  to  be 
thoroughly  looked  into,"  retorted  Bagley. 

"  But  you  can't  establish  that  connection,  any 
more  than  you  can  convince  anybody  that  I'm  Mur- 
ray Davenport." 

Bagley  was  fiercely  silent,  taking  in  a  deep  breath 
for  the  cooling  of  his  rage.  He  was  a  man  who 
saw  whole  vistas  of  probability  in  a  moment,  and 
who  was  correspondingly  quick  in  making  decisions. 

"  We're  at  a  deadlock,"  said  he.  "  You're  a 
clever  boy,  Dav,  —  or  Turl,  I  might  as  well  call 
you.  I  know  the  game's  against  me,  and  Turl  you 
shall  be  from  now  on,  for  all  I've  ever  got  to  say. 
I  did  swear  this  evening  to  make  it  hot  for  you, 
but  I'm  not  as  hot  myself  now  as  I  was  at  that 
moment.  I'll  give  up  the  idea  of  causing  trouble 
for  you  over  that  money;  but  the  money  itself  I 
must  have." 

"  Do  you  need  it  badly?  "  asked  Turl. 

"  Need  it ! "  cried  Bagley,  scorning  the  imputa- 
tion. "  Not  me!  The  loss  of  it  would  never  touch 
me.  But  no  man  can  ever  say  he's  done  me  out 
of  that  much  money,  no  matter  how  smart  he  is. 
So  I'll  have  that  back,  if  I've  got  to  spend  all  the 
rest  of  my  pile  to  get  it.  One  way  or  another,  I'll 
manage  to  produce  evidence  connecting  you  with 


300       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

Murray  Davenport  at  the  time  he  disappeared  with 
my  cash." 

Turl  pondered.  Presently  he  said :  "  If  it  were 
restored  to  you,  Davenport's  moral  right  to  it  would 
still  be  insisted  on.  The  restoration  would  be  merely 
on  grounds  of  expediency." 

"All  right,"  said  Bagley. 

"  Of  course,"  Turl  went  on,  "  Davenport  no 
longer  needs  it;  and  certainly  7  don't  need  it." 

"  Oh,  don't  you,  on  the  level  ?  "  inquired  Bagley, 
surprised. 

"  Certainly  not.  I  can  earn  a  very  good  income. 
Fortune  smiles  on  me." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  your  holding  out  a  thousand 
or  two  of  that  money  when  you  pay  it  over,  —  say 
two  thousand,  as  a  sort  of  testimonial  of  my  regard," 
said  Bagley,  good-naturedly. 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  You  mean  to  be  gener- 
ous; but  I  couldn't  accept  a  dollar  as  a  gift,  from 
the  man  who  wouldn't  pay  Murray  Davenport  as  a 
right." 

"  Would  you  accept  the  two  thousand,  then,  as 
Murray  Davenport's  right,  —  you  being  a  kind  of 
an  heir  of  his?  " 

"  I  would  accept  the  whole  amount  in  dispute ; 
but  under  that,  not  a  cent." 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  30 1 

Bag-ley  looked  at  Turl  long  and  hard ;  then  said, 
quietly :  "  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do  with  you.  I'll 
toss  up  for  that  money,  —  the  whole  amount.  If 
you  win,  keep  it,  and  I'll  shut  up.  But  if  I  win, 
you  turn  it  over  and  never  let  me  hear  another  word 
about  Davenport's  right." 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  I'm  not  a  gambling  man. 
And  I  can't  admit  that  Davenport's  right  is  open 
to  settlement." 

"  Well,  at  least  you'll  admit  that  you  and  I  don't 
agree  about  it.  You  can't  deny  there's  a  difference 
of  opinion  between  us.  If  you  want  to  settle  that 
difference  once  and  for  ever,  inside  of  a  minute, 
here's  your  chance.  It's  just  cases  like  this  that  the 
dice  are  good  for.  There's  a  saloon  over  on  that 
corner.  Will  you  come?  " 

"All  right,"  said  Turl.  And  the  three  strode 
diagonally  across  Sixth  Avenue. 

"  Gimme  a  box  of  dice,"  said  Bagley  to  the  man 
behind  the  bar,  when  they  had  entered  the  brightly 
lighted  place. 

"  They're  usin'  it  in  the  back  room,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Got  a  pack  o'  cards?"  then  asked  Bagley. 

The  barkeeper  handed  over  a  pack  which  had  been 
reposing  in  a  cigar-box. 


3O2       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

"  I'll  make  it  as  sudden  as  you  like,"  said  Bagley 
to  Turl.  "  One  cut  apiece,  and  highest  wins.  Or 
would  you  like  something  not  so  quick  ?  " 

"  One  cut,  and  the  higher  wins,"  said  Turl. 

"  Shuffle  the  cards,"  said  Bagley  to  Larcher,  who 
obeyed.  "  Help  yourself,"  said  Bagley  to  Turl. 
The  latter  cut,  and  turned  up  a  ten-spot.  Bagley 
cut,  and  showed  a  six. 

"  The  money's  yours,"  said  Bagley.  "  And  now, 
gentlemen,  what'll  you  have  to  drink  ?  " 

The  drinks  were  ordered,  and  taken  in  silence. 
"  There's  only  one  thing  I'd  like  to  ask,"  said  Bagley 
thereupon.  "  That  keyhole  business  —  it  needn't 
go  any  further,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  said  Turl.  Larcher  added 
his,  whereupon  Bagley  bade  the  barkeeper  telephone 
for  a  four-wheeler,  and  would  have  taken  them  to 
their  homes  in  it.  But  they  preferred  a  walk,  and 
left  him  waiting  for  his  cab. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  Larcher,  as  soon  as  he  was 
out  of  the  saloon.  "  I  congratulate  you !  I  feared 
Bagley  would  give  trouble.  But  how  easily  he  came 
around ! " 

"You  forget  how  fortunate  I  am,"  said  Turl, 
smiling.  "  Poor  Davenport  could  never  have 
brought  him  around." 


BAGLEY  SHINES  OUT  303 

"  There's  no  doubting  your  luck,"  said  Larcher ; 
"  even  with  cards." 

"Lucky  with  cards,"  began  Turl,  lightly;  but 
broke  off  all  at  once,  and  looked  suddenly  dubious  as 
Larcher  glanced  at  him  in  the  electric  light. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

FLORENCE 

THE  morning  brought  sunshine  and  the  sound 
of  sleigh-bells.  In  the  wonderfully  clear  air  of 
New  York,  the  snow-covered  streets  dazzled  the 
eyes.  Never  did  a  town  look  more  brilliant,  or 
people  feel  more  blithe,  than  on  this  fine  day  after 
the  long  snow-storm. 

"  Isn't  it  glorious  ?  "  Edna  Hill  was  looking  out 
on  the  shining  white  gardens  from  Florence's  parlor 
window.  "  Certainly,  on  a  day  like  this,  it  doesn't 
seem  natural  for  one  to  cling  to  the  past.  It's  a  day 
for  beginning  over  again,  if  ever  there  are  such 
days."  Her  words  had  allusion  to  the  subject  on 
which  the  two  girls  had  talked  late  into  the  night. 
Edna  had  waited  for  Florence  to  resume  the  theme 
in  the  morning,  but  the  latter  had  not  done  so  yet, 
although  breakfast  was  now  over.  Perhaps  it  was 
her  father's  presence  that  had  deterred  her.  The 
incident  of  the  meal  had  been  the  arrival  of  a  note 
from  Mr.  Bagley  to  Mr.  Kenby,  expressing  the 
3°4 


FLORENCE 


305 


former's  regret  that  he  should  be  unavoidably  pre- 
vented from  keeping  the  engagement  to  go  sleighing. 
As  Florence  had  forgotten  to  give  her  father  Mr. 
Bagley's  verbal  message,  this  note  had  brought  her 
in  for  a  quantity  of  paternal  complaint  sufficient  for 
the  venting  of  the  ill-humor  due  to  his  having 
stayed  up  too  late,  and  taken  too  much  champagne 
the  night  before.  But  now  Mr.  Kenby  had  gone 
out,  wrapped  up  and  overshod,  to  try  the  effect  of 
fresh  air  on  his  headache,  and  of  shop-windows 
and  pretty  women  on  his  spirits.  Florence,  how- 
ever, had  still  held  off  from  the  all-important  topic, 
until  Edna  was  driven  to  introduce  it  herself. 

"  It's  never  a  day  for  abandoning  what  has  been 
dear  to  one,"  replied  Florence. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  be  abandoning  him.  After 
all,  he  really  is  the  same  man." 

"  But  I  can't  make  myself  regard  him  as  the 
same.  And  he  doesn't  regard  himself  so." 

"  But  in  that  case  the  other  man  has  vanished. 
It's  precisely  as  if  he  were  dead.  No,  it's  even 
worse,  for  there  isn't  as  much  trace  of  him  as  there 
would  be  of  a  man  that  had  died.  What's  the  use 
of  being  faithful  to  such  an  utterly  non-existent 
person?  Why,  there  isn't  even  a  grave,  to  put 
flowers  on ;  —  or  an  unknown  mound  in  a  distant 


306       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

country,  for  the  imagination  to  ding  to.  There's 
just  nothing  to  be  constant  to." 

"  There  are  memories/' 

"  Well,  they'll  remain.  Does  a  widow  lose  her 
memories  of  number  one  when  she  becomes  Mrs. 
Number  Two?  " 

"  She  changes  the  character  of  them ;  buries  them 
out  of  sight;  kills  them  with  neglect  Yes,  she 
is  false  to  them." 

"  But  your  case  isn't  even  like  that.  In  these 
peculiar  circumstances  the  old  memories  will  blend 
with  the  new.  —  And,  dear  me !  he  is  such  a  nice 
man !  I  don't  see  how  the  other  could  have  been 
nicer.  You  couldn't  find  anybody  more  congenial 
in  tastes  and  manners,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  can't  make  you  understand,  dear.  Suppose 
Tom  Larcher  went  away  for  a  time,  and  came  back 
so  completely  different  that  you  couldn't  see  the  old 
Tom  Larcher  in  him  at  all.  And  suppose  he  didn't 
even  consider  himself  the  same  person  you  had 
loved.  Would  you  love  him  then  as  you  do  now?  " 

Edna  was  silenced  for  a  moment;  but  for  a 
moment  only.  "Well,  if  he  came  back  such  a 
charming  fellow  as  Turl,  and  if  he  loved  me  as 
much  as  Turl  loves  you,  I  could  soon  manage  to 
drop  the  old  Tom  out  of  my  mind.  But  of  course, 


FLORENCE  307 

you  know,  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  wouldn't  forget 
for  a  moment  that  he  really  was  the  old  Tom." 

The  talk  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 
The  servant  gave  the  name  of  Mr.  TurL  Florence 
turned  crimson,  and  stood  at  a  loss. 

"  You  can't  truly  say  you're  out,  dear,"  counselled 
Edna,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  Florence. 

Turl  entered. 

Florence  looked  and  spoke  coldly.  "  I  told  you 
I'd  send  a  message  when  I  wished  you  to  call" 

He  was  wistful,  but  resolute.  '*  I  know  it,"  he 
said.  "  But  love  doesn't  stand  on  ceremony ;  lovers 
are  importunate;  the}-  come  without  bidding. — 
Good  morning.  Miss  Hill;  you  mustn't  let  me 
drive  you  away." 

For  Edna  had  swished  across  the  room,  and  was 
making  for  the  hall. 

"I'm  going  to  the  drawing-room,"  she  said, 
airily,  "  to  see  the  sleighs  go  by." 

In  another  second,  the  door  slammed,  and  Turl 
was  alone  with  Florence.  He  took  a  hesitating 
step  toward  her. 

"  It's  useless,"  she  said,  raising  her  hand  as  a 
barrier  between  them.  "I  can't  think  of  you  as 
the  same.  I  can't  see  him  in  you.  I  should  have 


308       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

to  do  that  before  I  could  offer  you  his  place.  All 
that  I  can  love  now  is  the  memory  of  him." 

"  Listen,"  said  Turl,  without  moving.  "  I  have 
thought  it  over.  For  your  sake,  I  will  be  the  man 
I  was.  It's  true,  I  can't  restore  the  old  face;  but 
the  old  outlook  on  life,  the  old  habits,  the  old  pen- 
siveness,  will  bring  back  the  old  expression.  I  will 
resume  the  old  name,  the  old  set  of  memories,  the 
old  sense  of  personality.  I  said  last  night  that  a 
resumption  of  the  old  self  could  be  only  mental, 
and  incomplete  even  so.  But  when  I  said  that,  I 
had  not  surrendered.  The  mental  return  can  be 
complete,  and  must  reveal  itself  more  or  less  on  the 
surface.  And  the  old  love,  —  surely  where  the  feel- 
ing is  the  same,  its  outer  showing  can't  be  utterly 
new  and  strange." 

He  spoke  with  a  more  pleading  and  reverent  note 
than  he  had  yet  used  since  the  revelation.  A  moist 
shine  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Murray  —  it  is  you !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Ah !  —  sweetheart !  "  His  smile  of  the  utmost 
tenderness  seemed  more  of  a  kind  with  sadness 
than  with  pleasure.  It  was  the  smile  of  a  man 
deeply  sensible  of  sorrow  —  of  Murray  Davenport, 
—  not  that  of  one  versed  in  good  fortune  alone  — 
not  that  which  a  potent  imagination  had  made  ha- 
bitual to  Francis  Turl. 


FLORENCE  309 

She  gave  herself  to  his  arms,  and  for  a  time 
neither  spoke.  It  was  she  who  broke  the  silence, 
looking  up  with  tearful  but  smiling  eyes: 

"  You  shall  not  abandon  your  design.  It's  too 
marvellous,  too  successful;  it  has  been  too  dear  to 
you  for  that." 

"  It  was  dear  to  me  when  I  thought  I  had  lost 
you.  And  since  then,  the  pride  of  conceiving  and 
accomplishing  it,  the  labor  and  pain,  kept  it  dear 
to  me.  But  now  that  I  am  sure  of  you,  I  can  resign 
it  without  a  murmur.  From  the  moment  when  I 
decided  to  sacrifice  it,  it  has  been  nothing  to  me, 
provided  I  could  only  regain  you." 

"  But  the  old  failure,  the  old  ill  luck,  the  old 
unrewarded  drudgery,  —  no,  you  sha'n't  go  back 
to  them.  You  shall  be  true  to  the  illusion  —  we 
shall  be  true  to  it  —  I  will  help  you  in  it,  strengthen 
you  in  it!  I  needed  only  to  see  the  old  Murray 
Davenport  appear  in  you  one  moment.  Here- 
after you  shall  be  Francis  Turl,  the  happy  and  for- 
tunate! But  you  and  I  will  have  our  secret  — 
before  the  world  you  shall  be  Francis  Turl  —  but 
to  me  you  shall  be  Murray  Davenport,  too  —  Mur- 
ray Davenport  hidden  away  in  Francis  Turl.  To 
me  alone,  for  the  sake  of  the  old  memories.  It  will 
be  another  tie  between  us,  this  secret,  something 
that  is  solely  ours,  deep  in  our  hearts,  as  the  knowl- 


3IO       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

edge  of  your  old  self  would  always  have  been  deep 
in  yours  if  you  hadn't  told  me.  Think  how  much 
better  it  is  that  I  share  this  knowledge  with  you; 
now  nothing  of  your  mind  is  concealed  from  me, 
and  we  together  shall  have  our  smile  at  the  world's 
expense." 

"  For  being  so  kind  to  Francis  Turl,  the  fortu- 
nate, after  its  cold  treatment  of  Murray  Davenport, 
the  unlucky,"  said  Turl,  smiling.  "  It  shall  be  as 
you  say,  sweetheart.  There  can  be  no  doubt  about 
my  good  fortune.  It  puts  even  the  old  proverb  out. 
With  me  it  is  lucky  in  love  as  well  as  at  cards." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  " 

"  The  Bagley  money  —  " 

"  Ah,  that  money.  Listen,  dear.  Now  that  I 
have  some  right  to  speak,  you  must  return  that 
money.  I  don't  dispute  your  moral  claim  to  it  — 
such  things  are  for  you  to  settle.  But  the  danger 
of  keeping  it  —  " 

"  There's  no  longer  any  danger.  The  money  is 
mine,  of  Bagley's  own  free  will  and  consent.  I 
encountered  him  last  night.  He  is  in  my  secret 
now,  but  it's  safe  with  him.  We  cut  cards  for  the 
money,  and  I  won.  I  hate  gambling,  but  the  situ- 
ation was  exceptional.  He  hoped  that,  once  the 
matter  was  settled  by  the  cards,  he  should  never 
hear  a  word  about  it  again.  As  he  hadn't  heard  a 


FLORENCE  311 

word  of  it  from  me  —  Davenport  —  for  years,  this 
meant  that  his  own  conscience  had  been  troubling 
him  about  it  all  along.  That's  why  he  was  ready 
at  last  to  put  the  question  to  a  toss-up;  but  first 
he  established  the  fact  that  he  wouldn't  be  '  done ' 
out  of  the  money  by  anybody.  I  tell  you  all  this, 
dear,  in  justice  to  the  man ;  and  so,  exit  Bagley.  As 
I  said,  my  secret  —  our  secret  —  is  safe  with  him. 
So  it  is,  of  course,  with  Miss  Hill  and  Larcher. 
Nobody  else  knows  it,  though  others  besides  you 
three  may  have  suspected  that  I  had  something  to 
do  with  the  disappearance." 

"  Only  Mr.  Bud." 

"  Larcher  can  explain  away  Mr.  Bud's  suspicions. 
Larcher  has  been  a  good  friend.  I  can  never  be 
grateful  enough  —  " 

A  knock  at  the  door  cut  his  speech  short,  and  the 
servant  announced  Larcher  himself.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  he  should  call  for  Edna's  orders. 
That  young  lady  had  just  intercepted  him  in  the 
hall,  to  prevent  his  breaking  in  upon  what  might 
be  occurring  between  Turl  and  Miss  Kenby.  But 
Florence,  holding  the  door  open,  called  out  to  Edna 
and  Larcher  to  come  in.  Something  in  her  voice 
and  look  conveyed  news  to  them  both,  and  they 
came  swiftly.  Edna  kissed  Florence  half  a  dozen 
times,  while  Larcher  was  shaking  hands  with  Turl ; 


312       THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

then  waltzed  across  to  the  piano,  and  for  a  moment 
drowned  the  outside  noises  —  the  jingle  of  sleigh- 
bells,  and  the  shouts  of  children  snowballing  in  the 
sunshine  —  with  the  still  more  joyous  notes  of  a 
celebrated  march  by  Mendelssohn. 


THE    END. 


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PAGE'S  COMMONWEALTH  SERIES 

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and  the  separate  political  and  social  elements,  have  all  tended 
to  create  distinct  methods  of  literary  expression  in  various  sec- 
tions. In  offering  from  time  to  time  the  books  in  the  "  COM- 
MONWEALTH SERIES,"  we  shall  select  a  novel  or  story 
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Number  5.  (Illinois)  The  Russells  in  Chi- 
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This  entertaining  story  is  the  narrative  of  the  experiences  of 
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great  Western  metropolis,  as  well  as  the  foibles  of  the  impec- 
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satire,  as  kindly  as  it  is  observant  and  keen. 

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Number  6.  (New  York)  Councils  of  Croesus. 

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WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 
Captain    Ravenshaw;     OR,    THE    MAID   OF 

CHEAPSIDE.     (35th  thousand.)     A  romance  of  Elizabethan 
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Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we 
had  anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and 
comedy.  The  beggar  student,  the  rich  goldsmith,  the  roisterer 
and  the  rake,  the  fop  and  the  maid,  are  all  here :  foremost 
among  them,  Captain  Ravenshaw  himself,  soldier  of  fortune 
and  adventurer,  who,  after  escapades  of  binding  interest, 
finally  wins  a  way  to  fame  and  to  matrimony.  The  rescue  of 
a  maid  from  the  designs  of  an  unscrupulous  father  and  rakish 
lord  forms  the  principal  and  underlying  theme,  around  which 
incidents  group  themselves  with  sufficient  rapidity  to  hold  one's 
attention  spellbound. 

Philip  WinwOOd.  (7oth  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of 
the  Domestic  History  of  an  American  Captain  in  the  War  of 
Independence,  embracing  events  that  occurred  between  and 
during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in  New  York  and  London. 
Written  by  his  Enemy  in  War,  Herbert  Russell,  Lieutenant 
/  in  the  Loyalist  Forces.  Presented  anew  by  ROBERT  NEIL- 
SON  STEPHENS.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

Library  izmo,  cloth $  1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  stirring  and  remarkable  romance*  that  have 

been  published   in  a   long  while,  and  its   episodes,  incidenti,  and 

actions  are  as  interesting  and  agreeable  as   they  are   vmd  and 

dramatic."  —  Boston  Times. 


L.    C.   PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 


An  Enemy  to  the  King.   (4<>th  thousand.)  From 

the  "  Recently    Discovered    Memoirs  of   the   Sieur   de   la 

Toumolre."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing 
the  adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  Court  of 
Henry  III.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  of  Navarre. 

"  A  stirring  tale."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  A  royally  strong  piece  of  fiction." —  Boston  Ideas. 

'•  Interesting  from  the  first  to  the  last  page."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Brilliant  as  a  play ;  it  is  equally  brilliant  as  a  romantic  noveL"  — 

Philadelphia  Press. 

The  Continental  Dragoon :   A  ROMANCE  OF 

PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  EX  1778.    (426.  thousand.)   Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  doth $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  the  scene  being  laid 
in  and  around  the  old  Philipse  Manor  House,  near  Yonkers, 
which  at  the  time  of  the  story  was  the  central  point  of  the  so- 
called  u  neutral  territory  "  between  the  two  armies. 

The  Road  tO    Paris:     A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE. 
(23d  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

An  historical  romance  of  the  i8th  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite 
ancestry,  whose  family  early  settled  in  the  colony  of  Pennsyl- 


A  Gentleman  Player :  HIS  ADVENTURES  ON  A 

SECRET  MISSION  FOR   QUEEN  ELIZABETH.     (35th  thou- 
sand.)    Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth          .        .        .        .         .        .     $1.50 

"A  Gentleman  Player  "is  a  romance  of  the  Elizabethan 
period.  It  relates  the  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  falls  so  low  in  his  fortune  that  he  '-'— 
Shakespeare's  company  of  players,  and  becomes  a 
protege*  of  the  great  poet 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G,  D.  ROBERTS 
The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood. 

Library  I2mo,  gilt  top,  decorative  cover,  illustrated  .  11.50 
This  book  strikes  a  new  note  in  literature.  It  is  a  realistic 
romance  of  the  folk  of  the  forest,  —  a  romance  of  the  alliance 
of  peace  between  a  pioneer's  daughter  in  the  depths  of  the 
ancient  wood  and  the  wild  beasts  who  felt  her  spell  and 
became  her  friends.  It  is  not  fanciful,  with  talking  beasts; 
nor  is  it  merely  an  exquisite  idyl  of  the  beasts  themselves.  It 
is  an  actual  romance  in  which  the  animal  characters  play  their 
parts  as  naturally  as  do  the  human, 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest.  Being  the  Narrative 
of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer,  Siegneur  de  Briart, 
and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  AbW,  and  of  his  Adventures 
in  a  Strange  Fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry  Sandham, 
R.  C.  A. 

Library  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge  paper       .     $1.50 
A  romance  of  the  convulsive  period  of  the  struggle  between 

the  French  and  English  for  the  possession  of  North  America. 

The  story  is  one  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure,  and  deals 

with  that  fiery  fringe  of  conflict  that  waved  between  Nova 

Scotia  and  New  England. 

A  Sister  to  Evangeline.    Being  the  story  of 

Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into  Exile  with  the 

Villagers  of  Grand  Pre". 

Library   12 mo,   cloth,   deckle-edge  paper,  gilt   top, 
illustrated $1.50 

This  is  a  romance  of  the  great  expulsion  of  the  Acadians 
which  Longfellow  first  immortalized  in  "  Evangeline."  Swift 
action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion, 
searching  analysis,  characterize  this  strong  novel;  and  the 
tragic  theme  of  the  exile  is  relieved  by  the  charm  of  the  wilful 
demoiselle  and  the  spirit  of  the  courtly  seigneur,  who  bring  the 
manners  of  old  France  to  the  Acadian  woods. 


L.    C.  PAGE   AND   COMPANY'S 


Works  of  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts  (Continued) 

Earth's  Enigmas. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  uncut  edges  ....  $1.25 
This  is  the  author's  first  volume  of  stories  and  the  one  which 
discovered  him  as  a  fiction  writer  of  advanced  rank.  The 
tales  deal  chiefly  with  those  elemental  problems  of  the  mys- 
teries of  life,  — pain,  the  unknown,  the  strange  kinship  of  man 
and  beast  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  —  the  enigmas  which 
occur  chiefly  to  the  primitive  folk  on  the  backwoods  fringe  of 
civilization,  and  they  arrest  attention  for  their  sincerity,  their 
freshness  of  first-hand  knowledge,  and  their  superior  craft. 

By  the  Marshes  of  Minas. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  .  .  $}-25 
This  is  a  volume  of  romance  of  love  and  adventure  in  that 
picturesque  period  when  Nova  Scotia  was  passing  from  the 
French  to  the  English  regime,  of  which  Professor  Roberts  is 
the  acknowledged  celebrant.  Each  tale  is  independent  of  the 
others,  but  the  scenes  are  similar,  and  in  several  of  them  the 
evil  "  Black  AbbeY'  well  known  from  the  author's  previous 
novels,  again  appears  with  his  savages  at  his  heels  —  but  to  be 
thwarted  always  by  woman's  wit  or  soldier's  courage. 


WORKS  OF 

MAURUS  JOKAI 

Translated  by   P.  F.   Bicknell.     With  a 
portrait  in  photogravure  of  Dr.  Jdkai. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative  .  .  .  .  $1.50 
An  absorbing  story  of  life  among  a  happy  and  primitive 
people  hidden  away  in  far  Transylvania,  whose  peaceful  life  is 
never  disturbed  except  by  the  inroads  of  their  turbulent  neigh- 
bors. The  opening  scenes  are  laid  in  Rome ;  and  the  view  of 
the  corrupt,  intriguing  society  there  forms  a  picturesque  con- 
trast to  the  scenes  of  pastoral  simplicity  and  savage  border 
warfare  that  succeed. 


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